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AMARAXTH  BLOOMS 


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MRS.     S.     S  .     SMITH. 


U  T  I  C  A  : 
J.    \V.   FULLER 

PRESS    OF    D.   BENNETT. 


TO 

MY   AFFECTIONATE    FRIENDS, 

THESE  POEMS  ARE 
VERY  RESPECTFULLY,  GRATEFULLY, 

AND     MOST    SINCERELY, 

INSCRIBED 

BY 

THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS. 


PASE. 

The  Minstrel  Bride, 1 

The  Healing  of  Naaman  the  Syrian, 8 

Isadore,  a  tale  of  truth, 13 

Return  of  Spring  to  the  Invalid, 16 

I'm  Sitting  all  Alone,  Mother, 18 

The  Wounded  Bird, 20 

The  Broken  Hearted, 23 

Charity, 28 

The  Invocation, 31 

Isabel, 33 

In  Memory  of  Mrs.  R., 35 

New- Year  Greetings, 37 

In  Memory  of  Mr.  J.  P., 39 

The  Wintery  Night, 42 

To  Mi  s  M.  L., 43 

Summer  Musings, 46 

The  Angels' Call, 48 

In  Memory  of  Countess  Ossoli, 50 

The  Egyptian  Vulture, 53 

My  Valley  Home, , ; , 55 

The  Star  of  Destiny, 58 

A  Reply, 61 


PAGE. 

A  Romish  Legend  of  St.  Peter, 64 

The  Three  Portraits, 66 

A  Dirge, 69 

Autumn, 72 

The  Evening  Hearth, 74 

Norwich  Valley, 76 

Songs  of  Death,  (Recollections  of  the  Dying,) 78 

"       (To  Jeana  in  Heaven.)... 80 

The  Country  Clergyman, 82 

An  Impromptu, 84 

Guido's  Dream, 85 

The  first  Grave  of  the  Settlers, 88 

Lines  Written  in  an  Album, 89 

Lights  and  Shadows, 91 

Little  Mary, ,  93 

May-Day  Greetings, 94 

Orphan  Willie, 9G 

On  the  Death  of  the  Poetess  L.  E.  L., 99 

To  Mrs. , 101 

The  Dying  Poet's  Soliloquy, 103 

Inez  and  Imelda, 105 

The  Welcome, 108 

The  Exile, Ill 

Spring, 114 

The  Parisian  Flower  Girl, , 116 

Little  Henry, 118 

To  Mrs.  G.  L., 121 

To  an  only  Brother, : 124 

Autumnal  Dirge, t 127 

The  Artist's  Last  Work,..  ...129 


PAGE. 

New- Year  Greeting  in  1846, 133 

To  Little  Viola  C., 136 

Communing  with  Christ, 138 

Ode  to  Spring, 141 

In  Memory  of  Mrs.  J.  H.  L., 143 

"  I  See— A  light — I'm  almost  home," 146 

King  David's  Choice, 148 

Spiritual  Communings, 151 

The  Tulip, 154 

Elegiac  Stanzas, 156 

Zayda, 158 

Midnight  Murder  of  the  Duke  D'Enghein, 160 

To  Mrs.  Ann  S.  Stephens, 164 

Robin  Grey, 167 

The  Step-Child, 169 

The  Father's  Lament, 172 

To  Jenny  Lind, 174 

A  Sunset  Scene, 175 

New- Year's  Eve,  1851, 177 

Lines  Addressed  to  an  Infant, 180 

The  Gift  of  Song, 182 

The  Guardian  Spirit, 183 

The  Wandering  Mariner, 184 

Contrast  between  the  Righteous  and  Wicked, 188 

"  A  strong  Man  will  carry  me  over  the  Mountains," 190 

The  Sunset  Burial, 193 

To  my  Sister  in  Heaven, 195 

Lines  Written  by  the  Grave  of  a  beloved  Mother, 197 


THE  silver  lamps  shed  a  festal  light 

O'er  the  young  and  fair  that  met  that  night, 

To  list  to  a  minstrel's  thrilling  strains, 

Where  the  sweet  Wair  flowed  o'er  the  verdant  plains. 

The  soft  prelude  with  its  rounding  swell, 

Trembled  a  moment,  then  rose  and  fell ! 

Then  changed  to  a  clear  and  pealing  strain. 

That  shook  each  antique  Oriel  pane, 

While  the  silent  throng  held  their  breath  to  hear. 

As  those  silvery  notes  died  on  the  ear ! 

Wrhence  came  that  strain,  with  its  wildering  spell  ? 

Not  from  the  organ's  deep-toned  swell ! 

Nor  flute,  nor  clarion,  breathed  the  lay, — 

Twas  a  youth  that  sang ;  the  kindling  ray 

Of  his  dark  eye  shone  like  a  diamond  bright, — 

More  clear  and  soft  than  the  Opal's  light. 

His  pale  high  brow,  like  a  maiden's  fair, 

Crown'd  with  clustering  curls  of  raven  hair, 

Wore  a  calm,  serene,  and  holy  light, 

Like  the  jewel'd  brow  of  a  starry  night ! 

All  hearts  were  stir'd  by  that  glorious  strain. 
'Till  tears  fell  fast  like  the  summer  rain  ! 
But  there  was  one  'mid  the  charmed  throng, 

B 


"1  AMAKANTH    BLOOMS. 

A  high-born  maiden,  fair  and  young ; 
Who  with  parted  lips,  and  kindling  eye, 
With  long-drawn  breath,  and  heaving  sigh, 
Listen'd  that  warbled  strain  so  clear, 
With  a  strange  delight,  half  blent  with  fear ; 
And  thoughts  awoke  in  her  breast  that  hour, 
Which  ting'd  her  life  with  their  hue  and  power ! 

Was  it  the  tones  of  that  melting  lay 

That  woke  in  her  breast  love's  dawning  ray  1 

Or  the  thrilling  glance  of  that  soul-lit  eye, 

Ting'd  her  maiden  cheek  with  the  crimson  dye  I 

Love's  mystery  none  perchance  may  tell : — 

Or  how  to  avoid  love's  blinding  spell. 

At  her  Sire's  command  her  vows  were  given, 

Vows  pledg'd  on  earth, — yet  unbless'd  in  heaven,- 

To  an  heir  of  wealth,  and  a  titled  name, 

But  her  heart  returned  no  answering  flame ! 

They  stood  within  a  myrtle  bower, 
The  gifted  one,  whose  only  dower, 
Was  the  tones  of  a  voice,  whose  varied  play 
Held  countless  hearts  'neath  their  magic  sway. 
And  she,  the  heir  of  a  princely  line, 
The  bright,  the  fair-hair'd  GERALDINE, — 
With  a  form  as  bright  as  the  rainbow's  smile, 
And  a  heart  unstain'd  by  earthly  guile, — 
With  her  sunny  brow  and  glance  of  mirth. 
The  joy  of  her  father's  home  and  hearth. 


THE  MINSTREL'S  BRIDE.  \ 

But  tears  had  dim'd  her  beaming  eyes. 
Their  hyacinth  hue,  of  summer  skies. 
Wore  a  sorrowing  look :  a  tearful  shower 
Fell  fast  as  she  sought  her  garden  bower : 
But  a  tall  form  darken'd  the  casement  there. 
'Twas  LEANDRO,  bowed  in  mute  despair ! 
He  had  waited  long  for  the  light  foot-fall. 
Of  the  lady  who  held  his  heart  in  thrall ; 
To  look  once  more  on  her  peerless  brow. 
Ere  she  breathed  to  another,  her  marriage  vow, 

The  minstrel  rais'd  his  drooping  head, 

As  he  heard  the  sound  of  her  gentle  tread. 

Like  a  fairy  vision  of  splendor  bright, 

She  stood  before  bis  'wildered  sight, 

In  her  bridal  robes.     The  brilliant  zone 

'  Round  her  slender  waist  with  diamonds  shone.— r: 

The  shining  braids  of  her  golden  hair. 

Gleam'd  with  Eastern  pearls,  and  diamonds  rare. 

Her  soft  eyes  dinvd  with  a  tearful  haze, 

Droop' d  'neath  the  light  of  his  mournful  gaze. 

With  a  voice  that  seern'd  in  its  altered  tone. 
Brimfull  of  tears,  like  a  sobbing  moan, 
He  bade  adieu, — while  her  hand  he  press'd. 
But  the  lady  clung  to  his  throbbing  breast. 
Her  trembling  lips  essayed  to  speak, 
While  the  crimson  fled  from  her  lip  and 
Oh.  leave  me  not,  she  murmur'd  low. 


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4  AMARANTH    BLOOMS. 

While  the  burning  tears  began  to  flow ; 
Rank,  friends,  and  fortune,  I  resign, 
Far  leave  henceforth,  to  call  thee  mine ! 

Like  a  torrent's  force  by  the  spring  vinchain'd, 

Flow'd  the  words  of  love,  ere  while  restrained, — 

While  he  held  her  close  to  his  yearning  breast, 

And  the  tale  of  his  hopeless  love  confess'd ! 

Still,  he  bade  her  think  of  his  lowly  state, 

Of  her  father's  halls,  left  desolate ; 

Of  the  grief  that  might  dim  his  silver  hair, 

And  deepen  the  lines  of  age  and  care. 

Oh,  leave  me  not,  she  murmur'd  clear, 

Or  my  bridal  couch  shall  be  my  bier ! 

******** 
There  were  sounds  of  footsteps  hurrying  nigh, 
As  the  stars  gleam'd  out  in  the  evening  sky, — 
While  they  sought  in  vain,  thro'  each  lonely  tower. 
Through  the  Castle  halls,  and  the  lady's  bower. 
For  the  missing  bride, — from  the  lake's  dim  shore 
They  were  speeding  swift,  to  return  no  more  ! 
The  alarm  bell  rang,  from  each  mountain  height. 
As  a  stately  brig  cheer'd  their  yearning  sight. 
They  gain'd  her  deck,  as  she  waiting  lay, — 
Ere  the  morning  dawn'd,  they  were  far  away. 

One  year  had  pass'd,  like  a  blissful  dream. 
In  their  cottage  home,  by  a  sylvan  stream. 
No  clouds  had  darken'd  their  smiling  sky, — 


THE  MINSTREL'S  BRIDE.  5 

No  tears  had  dim'd  the  young  bride's  eye, 
Save  those  that  blister'd  each  pleading  line. 
Return'd  unread,  without  word  or  sign, 
That  she  e'er  might  hope  to  be  forgiven. 
If  there  be  a  sin.  that  angers  heaven. 
?Tis  accursed  pride. — the  rich  man's  scorn 
Of  the  virtuous  poor,  and  lowly  born ! 

Their  little  wealth,  though  spent  with  care, 

Had  pass'd,  like  the  breath  of  the  mountain  air. 

Again  the  minstrel's  notes  were  heard, 

All  hearts  once  more,  by  his  strains  were  stir'd. — 

Proud  nobles  joined  in  the  meed  of  praise ; 

His  pale  brow  shone  'neath  a  wreath  of  bays  ! 

His  fair  bride  sat,  as  in  days  of  yore, 

With  her  soft  eyes  veil'd  'neath  the  blond  she  wore. 

But  her  haughty  kinsmen  glanc'd  with  scorn 

On  her  who  had  wed  with  the  lowly  born ! 

Leandro  gazed  with  a  flashing  eye, 

His  pale  cheek  flush' d  to  a  crimson  dye, 

As  he  marked  each  witli'ring  glance  of  pride, 

( 'ast  on  liis  young,  and  lovely  bride. 

Like  a  bright  star  fallen  from  its  high  estate 

"Mid  the  jewel' d  throng,  so  desolate, 

Yet  fair  she  look'cl,  in  her  simple  guise, 

Like  a  Peri  lost  from  her  native  skies. — 

While  yearning  thoughts  stir'd  her  hearts  deep  cell, 

As  the  large  tears  slowly  ebb'd  and  fell  I 


$  AMAKANTH   BLOOMS. 

Mis  soul,  unnerved  by  the  chilling  thought 

That  his  selfish  love,  had  her  ruin  wrought^ 

Fell  a  prey  to  self-accusing  blame, — 

While  the  hectic  weaken'd  his  slender  frame ! 

The  kindling  glow  of  his  eye,  once  fraught 

With  the  light'ning  gleam  of  electric  thought^ 

Wore  a  settled,  dark,  and  laournful  tinge  : 

Drooping  beneath  the  long-silken  fringe, 

Of  his  large  dark  melancholy  eye,. 

While  the  fount  of  song  in  his  heart  wax'd  dry. 

Peace  came  at  last.     'Neath  his  own  blue  heaven. 

His  soul  once  more,  to  his  art  was  given ! 

S^ill  more  etheriel  wax'd  his  frame, 

His  pale  cheek  glow'd  with  the  hectic  flame : 

And  the  kindling  ray  of  his  glorious  eyes, 

Gleam'd  with  a  light  from  beyond  the  skies. 

One  eve  in  Spring,  in  that  lovely  clime, 

When  the  Citron's  bloom,  and  the  flow'ring  Lime. 

And  the  breath  of  blossoms  rich  and  rare, 

Cast  their  sweet  perfume  on  the  scented  air, 

Came  a  grand  display  of  the  minstrel's  power. 

Leandro,  robed  for  the  festal  hour, 

Like  Israfel  stood  'mid  the  silent  throng, 

His  lips  were  parted  in  gushing  song  : 

A  touching  prelude,  a  holy  strain, 

He  warbled  soft,  with  a  light  refrain,— 

Then  a  requium  chant,  descending-  low, 

Breathed  forth  the  deepest  notes  of  woe \ 


Again  it  rose,  to  the  highest  key, 
Pealed  the  lofty  notes  of  victory  ! 

But  the  clear  voice  falter'd,  his  cheek  grew  pale, 
His  eye  had  pierced  thro'  the  shadowy  vale  ; 
Between  our  earth,  and  the  spirit-dime, 
His  pale  cheek  changed  to  a  hue  divine. 
Amazement  seized  on  the  breathless  crowd, 
And  stately  heads  were  with  sorrow  bowM 
As  they  bore  him  lifeless  from  the  throng, 
A  guiltless  victim  of  pride  and  wrong. 
The  imprison'd  soul  its  chain  had  riven, 
With  that  song  of  triumph  he  soar  d  to  heaven ! 

In  a  pleasant  vale,  where  the  Darro  gleams. 

Fed  by  a  thousand  rills  and  streams, 

Where  the  Orange  glows  'mid  the  leafy  bowers. 

And  the  White  Rose  casts  its  wealth  in  showers 

Where  the  Pink  Accasia  -wreathes  its  bloom, 

'Round  the  marble  base  of  a  sculptur'd  tomb, 

Stands  a  lovely  cot.     Fair  Geraldine 

In  snowy  robe,  pale  and  serene 

As  a  vestal  nun, — 'mid  the  dewy  flowers, 

Oft  whiles  away  the  morning  hours. 

A  Chapel  gleams  thro'  the  laurels  dim, 
Where  the  organ  peals  the  vesper  hymn. 
Each  Sabbath  morn  for  miles  around, 
As  the  church-bells  chime  their  silvery  sound. 
The  peasants  throng  to  that  marble  tomb. 


8  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

Where  the  loveliest  flowers  of  the  season  bloom  : 
To  drop  a  tear  o'er  the  minstrel's  dust, 
Embalm'd  in  calm  and  holy  trust. 
'Tis  said  at  eve,  on  the  ambient  air, 
Strange  viewless  harps  are  sounding  there  f 


of 

'TWAS  a  bright  Summer's  morn ! 
A  gentle  shower  had  cool'd  the  sultry  air, 
Which  all  night  long  had  lain  so  hush'd  and  still, 
That  not  a  leaf  was  lifted  by  the  breath 
Of  the  light  zephyr,  resting  on  its  wing, — 
When  with  the  dawn,  a  soft  and  pleasant  breeze 
Sprang  up,  and  on  its  gentle  bosom  bore, 
The  mingled  fragrance  of  each  flow'ring  tree, 
And  spicy  shrub,  and  creeping  vine,  that  trailed 
O'er  many  a  low-roofed  home,  and  moss-grown  wall 
Sprinkled  with  dewy  flowers.     The  merry  song 
Of  the  blithe  reaper,  wending  to  his  toil : 
The  lowing  kine,  the  bleating  of  the  flocks, 
Drove  forth  to  pasture ;  the  glad  ringing  shout 
Of  happy  children,  on  the  soft  green  sward, 
And  song  of  birds  caroling  on  the  wing, 
Harmonious  music  made !     Peace  smiled  around ! 
The  haughty  noble  for  a  while  gave  o'er 
His  thirst  for  power,  and  the  poor  bond-slave  toil'd. 
And  for  a  time  his  many  wrongs  forgot. 


HEALING    OF    NAAMAN.  9 

The  lonely  captive  felt,  for  a  brief  hour, 
Hope  kindling  in  his  breast;  and  nearer  seem'd 
Jerusalem,  in  that  glad  morning  light. 
With  her  fair  towers,  her  palaces  and  domes. 
Gleaming  beneath  the  sun,  than  when  at  eve 
He  laid  him  down  upon  his  bed  of  straw, 
And  felt  the  heavy  chain  of  bondage  press 
Upon  his  weary  limbs. 

Save  one  alone, 

All  felt  the  influence  of  that  genial  morn 
Fall  soft  and  soothingly  upon  their  hearts. 
All  save  the  leader  of  the  Syrian  host 
Who  late  return'd  with  his  victorious  bands, 
Laden  with  spoil  from  the  Judean  coast ; 
Highest  in  power,  and  favor  with  the  king, — 
Thrice  had  his  valiant  arm  deliv'rance  wrought, 
For  Syria's  legions,  henr  d  by  Israel  round, — 
When  like  the  ocean's  overwhelming  tide. 
He  clove  their  seried  ranks,  and  stood  at  bay. 
While  wave  on  wave  his  haughty  followers  pressed 
With  thund'rin'g  clash,  armed  with  the  deadly  spear, 
Dealing  destruction  swift  and  wild  dismay  ! 
While  fiercely  roll'd  the  billowy  tide  of  war, 
With  fearful  strides  o'er  the  ensanguined  plain, 
'Till  vanquished  Israel  fell  before  their  foes ! 
Some  few  escaped,  and  some  were  captive  led, 
As  trophies  of  the  fight.         *     .    *         * 

With  noiseless  step 
The  Syrian  leader  wander'd  sad  and  lone, 


10  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

•Neath  the  thick  boughs  of  the  dim  Olive's  shade. 
To  muse  in  silence,  on  that  lovely  morn. 
He  was  a  leper !     And  what  marvel  then 
He  drew  himself  apart,  at  times  from  men, 
In  moody  wretchedness  !     Even  in  the  hour 
Of  his  great  triumph,  when  applauding  crowds 
Lauded  his  name,  and  fame  with  silver  trump 
Proclaimed  his  valorous  deeds,  despair  awoke 
Within  his  breast,  and  the  dark  future  loom'd 
Before  his  sight  a  frowning  spectre  drear  ! 
A  cup  of  bitterness,  filled  unto  the  brim, 
Which  might  not  pass  away  ! 

*         *         *         *         Before  him  gleam'd 
A  marble  fountain,  murmuring  'neath  the  shade. 
Displaying  temptingly,  its  waters  cool : 
And  as  he  stooped  to  lave  his  burning  brow, 
He  saw  reflected  in  the  limpid  wave, 
The  hideous  taint  that  mar'd  his  every  joy, 
'Mid  way  extended  o'er  his  lofty  brow, — 
Repulsive  sight !     And  there  was  no  relief, 
No  subtle  drug  to  check  its  baleful  course, — 
No  balm  in  Gilead  for  that  fell  disease, 
No  way  of  rescue  save  by  one  alone, — 
And  that  was  death ! 

Concealed  amid  the  vines, 
A  captive  maid  of  Israel,  knelt  in  prayer ; 
With  her  fair  forehead  bowed  toward  the  East, 
As  was  her  wont,  in  her  own  native  land, 
Where  with  her  kindred,  she  each  morning  knelt 


HEALING    OF   N  A  AM  AN.  11 

Before  Jehovah's  shrine.     "With  ruthless  force 
From  friends  and  kindred  she  was  captive  led, 
And  sold  a  bondmaid  to  her  Syrian  lord. — 
And  thus  unwittingly  did  she  become 
A  witness  to  his  grief,  and  deep  despair. 

****** 
Would  God !  my  mistress,  that  my  noble  lord. 
Would  seek  the  Prophet  on  Samaria's  hill. 
He  can  the  leper  heal !      Straight  one  bore 
The  tidings  to  the  king.     Well  pleased  he  heard ; 
At  his  command  the  Syrian  Captain  sought 
The  prophet's  lowly  home !     Traveling  in  state. 
Laden  with  gifts,  of  silver  and  of  gold, 
Appareled  as  a  Prince,  with  numerous  train, 
He  sought  Samaria's  hill ! 

Calm  and  serene. 

The  man  of  God,  within  his  humble  shedf 
Waited  the  coming  of  the  princely  train : 
And  ere  the  chariot  paused  beside  the  door. 
A  simple  message  from  the  prophet  came 
Unto  the  leper,  bidding  him  "  Go-  wasb 
Seven  times  in  Jordan,  and  he  would  be  healed  '," 
The  haughty  noble  turned  away  in  scorn, 
Expecting  hi  his  inmost  heart,  perchance, 
E'en  from  the  prophet,  honor  and  respect, 
Unto  his  lordly  state  !     He  had  not  learned 
That  Israel's  God  regardeth  not  the  proud, 
Nor  hath  respect  to  kingly  pomp  and  power ! 
His  proud  heart  scorned  to  yield  the  simple  test 


12  AMAEANTH    BLOOMS. 

Of  his  humility.     Yet  his  wretched  state 
Compelled  him  to  obedience !     A  burning  throb 
Of  piercing  anguish,  shot  across  his  brow, 
Reminding  him  of  the  ibul  leprous  stain. 
He  saw  in  prospect,  his  high  station  filled, 
By  one,  his  rival,  and  himself  henceforth 
Unfit  to  mingle  with  his  fellow  men, 
A  lonely  dweller  of  the  savage  wild ! 
The  thought  itself  was  madness. 
***** 

With  humbled  heart,  again  the  leper  sought 
The  man  of  God !     His  dark  and  curly  locks 
Moist  from  the  bath  in  Jordan's  swelling  waves, 
Lay  parted  on  his  brow.     The  fatal  mark, 
The  gloomy  lines,  the  dark  despairing  look, 
All,  all,  were  gone !     No  trace  of  that  foul  scourge 
Remained  to  mar  the  broad  and  ample  brow, 
Majestic  in  its  height ;  like  woman's  fair, 
Yet  reverent  and  meek !     One  pearly  tear 
Trembled  beneath  the  long  and  silken  lash 
Of  his  dark  lustrous  eye.     He  could  have  wept ! 
A  mountain's  weight  seem'd  lifted  from  his  breast. 
And  every  bounding  pulse  throb'd  wild  with  joy ! 

With  head  uncover' d,  reverently  he  bow'd, 
And  in  the  presence  of  his  numerous  train, 
Proclaim'd  that  Israel's  God,  is  God  alone ! 
And  Lord  of  all  the  earth !     Then  bending  low 
Before  Elisha,  prayed  him  to  accept 


HEALING   OF   N  A  AM  AX.  13 

A  present  from  his  hand.     Silver  and  gold, 
And  costly  raiment,  laid  he  at  his  feet ; 
In  vain  he  urged.     In  vain  the  glittering  store 
Was  temptingly  arrayed.     Privation,  toil, 
The  prophet  chose, — nay  even  death  itself, 
Rather  than  disobey  the  Lord  his  God  ! 

Not  so  Gehazi !     He  with  subtle  fraud, 
A  portion  of  the  goodly  gift  obtained ; 
Thereby  the  leprosy  of  Xaaman  clave 
To  him  and  his  forever. 


A      TALE      OF      TRUTH. 

There  were  wreathed  smiles  and  many  bright  eves 

beaming, 

And  glowing  cheeks  within  a  gorgeous  room. 
And  sparkling  gems  from  many  a  fair  brow  gleam 
ing* 

And  costly  pearls  enwreath'd  with  snowy  plume  ; 
Hut  there  was  one.  long  years  will  ne'er  efface 
The  memory  of  that  fair,  and  sweet  young  face. 
Amid  the  throng  her  dark  eye  shone  the  brightest. 
That  morn  had  witnessed  her  a  happy  bride. 
In  the  gay  dance  her  joyous  step  was  lightest. 
As  down  its  airy  maze  she  seemed  to  glide : 
Oh  had  the  veil  from  future  years  been  riven 


14  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

That  festal  -hour  to  mourning  had  been  given. 
There  were  sad  hearts  within  a  stately  dwelling, 
That  fair  young  bride  hath  left  her  childhood's  home, 
And  tears  like  rain  from  her  sad  heart  are  welling. 
As  the  tall  spires  of  hallowed  fane  and  dome. 
Fade  from,  her  sight !  and  days  bright  days  of  yore. 
Throng  o'er  her  soul ;  she  hears  the  ocean's  roar, 
Her  lullaby  from  childhood  !     Its  sparkling  foam 
Again  she  views  from  her  ancestral  home, 
And  the  tall  ship  with  its  gay  pennons  streaming 
Oe'r  the  blue  waves,  in  the  pale  moonlight  gleaming  : 
The  pleasant  walks  beneath  bright  starry  skies 
On  that  lone  shore,  and  fond  and  loving  eyes. 
That  welcome  her  return,  each  gentle  tone, 
Of  kindred  voices  in  her  own  lov'd  home. 
All  these  and  more,  throng  through  her  busy  mind. 
Ah  where  can  she  such  true  affection  find, 
As  she  hath  left  for  aye  ?     The  dream  is  o'er  ! 
Her  home  is  gained,  on  a  far  western  shore, 
Where  broad  Savannahs  teem  with  flow  Vets  wild, 
And  bounteous  nature  in  profusion  smiled. 
Where  the  Magnolia  waves  its  snowy  blossom. 
And  strange  birds  singing  'midst  the  leafy  bosom 
Of  the  dark  maple  forest.     Oft  she  would  gaze 
In  musings  wrapt  on  the  last  lingering  rays, 
Of  the  bright  glorious  sunsets.     Italia' s  skies 
Famed  for  the  beauty  of  their  glorious  dyes, 
Are  not  more  bright  than  the  long  lingering  glow 
O'er  the  vast  prairie,  when  the  sun  is  low, 


ISADORK.  15 

And  gently  sinking  in  the  golden  west, 
As  thus  he  sinks  upon  the  ocean's  breast ! 
The  summer  months  with  all  their  gorgeous  bloom 
Had  passed  away,  and  chill  autumnal  gloom, 
Keigned  in  their  stead.     A  thin  and  languid  frame. 
Consumption's  victim,  with  a  cheek  of  flame, 
And  sunken  eye,  and  short  and  stifled  breath. 
Reclined  upon  a  couch  !     The  hue  of  death 
Lay  on  her  marbled  brow  1     Oh  could  it  be 
The  fair  young  bride  from  the  far  distant  sea  1 
It  was  the  same !  yet  Oh,  how  deeply  changed. 
Her  large  dark  mournful   eyes  seemed  bright  but 

strange. 

Their  tearful  lustre,  there  were  few  could  brook  : 
Though  she  complained  not,  yet  her  very  look. 
Might  tell  of  suffering,  and  a  heart  sore  broken 
By  cruel  wrongs,  such  as  might  not  be  spoken ! 
Yet  she  lived  on,  till  the  sweet  spring  time  came, 
When  budding  flowers,  and  soft  and  balmy  rain 
Made  bright  the  joyous  earth.     One  quiet  eve 
She  seemed  to  take  a  silent  farewell  leave, 
Of  the  green  earth,  and  the  bright  smiling  sky. 
Tinged  with  the  radiance  of  the  sunset  dye. 
She  made  a  sign,  and  tfeey  beside  her  placed. 
The  sparkling  gems,  her  fair  temples  graced. 
•On  her  gay  bridal  mom.    The  brilliant  zone 
Which  bound  her  slender  waist,  still  brightly  shone : 
The  white  rose  wreath  which  her  light  fingers  braided, 
The  veil  of  blond,  that  her  dark  ringlets  shaded. 


16  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

All  were  unchanged — not  so,  the  form  that  wore 
Those  bridal  gems  : — a  film  now  gathered  o'er 
Her  dim  and  weary  sight.     That  night  the  moon 
Shone  clear  and  bright  through  her  dark  silent  room ; 
But  its  bright  beams,  the  dead  could  not  awaken  ! 
All  unperceived,  her  soul  its  flight  had  taken, 
To  yon  bright  world,  beyond  our  changeful  sky — 
Her  lonely  grave,  oft  meets  the  traveler's  eye ; 
A  lowly  mound,  with  wild  flowers  covered  o'er, 
Marks  the  lone  spot,  where  lies  fair  Isadore. 


Jt)e  ^efiM  of  Spirit)  to  rtje 

WRITTEN  IN  SICKNESS  IN  1838. 

Is  it  not  all  a  dream,  or  do  I  breathe  again 
The  soft  and  fragrant  breezes  of  the  opening  spring  ] 
Oh !  I  had  thought  ere  this,  to  bid  farewell  to  pain. 
And  this  dark  world,  and  plume  my  spirits  wing 
For  that  blest  region,  where  all  sorrows  cease, 
And  'neath  the  greensward  sleep  the  noiseless  sleep 
of  peace. 

Yes  spring  has  come  again,  but  not  to  me  her  breath 
Whispers  sweet  words  of  promise,  as  in  days  of  yore. 
Her  sweet  sounds  mingle  with  the  voice  of  death  ; 
They  call  my  spirit  hence  to  a  far  distant  shore ; — 
E'en  the  low  brooklets  moan  and  the  soft  zephyrs  sigh, 
Mysterious  warnings  give,  they  tell  me  I  must  die. 


THE    EN  VALID.  11 

Raise  high  the  casement,  let  the  mild  air  bathe 
Once  more  with  genial  warmth,  my  faded  cheek  ; — 
Oh,  Spring !  not  thus  I  hail'd  thee,  when  thy  soft 

dews  laved 

My  bounding  steps,  thine  early  flowers  to  seek. 
Ah,  little  did  I  deem  that  years  of  slow  decay 
Would  chain  my  spirit  thus,  and  wear  my  youth 

away ! 

The  breath  of  Spring  is  sweet !  yet  'twas  sweeter  for, 
When  I  with  volant  foot,  o'er  hill  and  valley  roam'd  • 
Charm'd  with  sweet  sounds,  till  yon  lone  eve'g  star, 
Shed  its  soft  pensive  light,  o'er  my  ancestral  home ; 
Ah,  never  more  shall  I,  in  those  lov'd  pastimes  share, 
Strange  voices  call  me,  through  the  whisp'ring  air  ! 

I  hear  their  thrilling  call !  Ah,  wherefore  then  delay  ? 
Why  should  I  linger  here,  thus  bow'd  in  heart  and 

mind? 

Mine  earthly  lot  is  woe !  they  call  me  hence  away, 
To  brighter  worlds,  where  the  worn  and  weary  find 
Unfading  fields  and  flowers,  where  the  stillness  of 

repose, 
O'er  the  care-worn  spirit  breathes,  a  balm  for  all  it=» 

woes ! 

Adieu,  my  native  vale  !  and  ye  dark  forest  shades, 
Your  haunts  are  all  familiar  to  my  mind. 

Full  many  an  hour,  in  childhood  I  have  played 
c 


18 


AMAKANTH    BLOOMS. 


'Xeath  young  tall  elm,  whose  boughs  towards  earth 

inclined. 
Farewell   ye   flowery  vales !     sweet  heights,    and 

rocky  dell, 
1  seek  a  home  far  hence, — farewell,  again  farewell ! 

NOTE. — The  above  lines  were  first  published  in  the  spring 
of  the  year  1838,  when  the  author  was  supposed  to  be  in  the 
last  stages  of  consumption.  They  were  prefaced  by  some 
beautiful  and  appropriate  remarks  from  the  pen  of  the  Editor^ 
J.  Marble,  who  two  years  since  paid  the  debt  of  nature,  be 
ing  himself  the  victim  of  "  lingering  consumption."  He  died 
universally  beloved  and  respected,  being  possessed  of  an  amia- 
blo  character,  and  a  kind  and  feeling  heart.  His  death  was 
regretted  by  all  who  knew  him. 


J'tn  Sitting  fill  alone, 

I'M  sitting  all  alone,  Mother, 

Where  I  sat  one  year  ago  : 
And  I  listen  to  the  same  sweet  sounds, 

The  river's  quiet  flow. 
T  list  the  river's  quiet  flow, 

And  the  robin's  cheerful  lay, 
And  feel  once  more  the  balmy  breeze 

O'er  my  wan  temples  play. 

It  cools  the  fever  throb,  Mother, 

Upon  my  burning  cheek ; 
And  cheers  me  with  the  rich  perfume, 


SITTING   ALL   ALOXE.  19 

Of  the  apple  blossom  sweet. 
They're  falling  like  a  cloud  of  light 

Upon  the  verdant  sod, — 
Ere  the)-  bloom  again,  I  shall  find  rest, 

Beneath  the  valley's  clod ! 

I'm  very  chang'd  now,  Mother, — - 

My  life  is  waning  fast ; 
And  gently  as  the  twilight  shades, 

Their  mournful  shadows  cast, 
Around  this  green  and  dewy  vale, 

Deep'ning  in  sombre  gloom, — 
Thus  gently  are  my  weary  feet, 

Still  wending  to  the  tomb, 

1  es,  I  am  very  changM,  Mother. 

Since  here  I  paused  to  rest : 

I  weep  not  now  that  thou  art  gone, 

To  dwell  among  the  blest ! 
To  dwell  forever  with  the  blest, 

Beyond  the  starry  sky : 
For  soon  I'll  share  thy  home,  Mother, 

Thy  blissful  home  on  high  J 

A  light  illumes  thy  way,  Mother. 

Across  the  pathless  sky, — 
Since  thou  hast  taught  me  how  to  live. 

I  do  not  fear  to  die. 
A  peaceful  calm  pervades  my  breast : 

While  each  successive  night 


20  AMAKANTH   BLOOMS. 

I  lay  me  down  to  dream  of  heaven, 
And  wake  to  bless  the  light. 

And  wake  to  bless  the  light,  Mother, 

The  early  morning  light ; 
In  thy  bright  glorious  home  above, 

There  is  no  darksome  night. 
Why  should  I  fear  to  lay  me  down 

Upon  a  dying  bed ; 
Whence  my  freed  spirit  shall  ascend, 

To  Christ  my  living  head  1 

NOTE. — These  lines  were  the  spontaneous  effusion  of  grief 
for  the  loss  of  the  dearest  and  best  of  mothers.  They  were 
written  a  month  preceding  the  anniversary  of  her  death,  when 
the  author  was  apparently  wasting  away  by  that  insidious  dis 
ease,  which  often  yields  to  the  mind  an  unnatural  clearness  and 
brilliancy,  at  the  expense  of  the  vital  powers,  which  seemed  at 
that  time  almost  wholly  exhausted,  and  swiftly  tending  toward 
dissolution  and  the  grave  ! 


I  SAT  by  the  window,  one  warm  summer  day, 
In  a  state  betwixt  waking  and  sleep, — 
Inhaling  the  breath  of  the  newly  made  hay, 
While  the  warm  sunny  breeze  fan'd  my  cheek  : 
When  tabby  cat,  sprang  with  a  bound  to  my  feet, 
To  show  me  the  prize  she  had  caught. 
'Twas  a  poor  little  bird,  whose  scarce  utter'd  peep, 
For  pity,  and  mercy  besought. 


THE    WOUNDED   BUtD.  21 

I  instantly  loosed  the  poor  bird  from  her  grasp. 

In  a  moment  Mrs.  Tabby  divined, 

By  the  threshing  she  took,  what  would  be  her  fete, 

If  another  sweet  bird  she  purloined. 

The  poor  birdie  lay  in  a  long  deadly  swoon ! 

So  long,  that  I  feared  it  was  dead. — 

When  it  ope' d  its  dark  eye  and  gazed  round  the  room. 

Then  stretched  back  its  poor  little  head. 

I  placed  by  its  side  a  spoonful  of  milk, 

And  a  few  tiny  crumbs  of  soft  bread : 

And  closed  fast  the  door,  lest  grimalkin  should  come 

And  snap  off  its  innocent  head. 

But  a  heavier  grief,  than  the  loss  of  a  bird, 

Made  my  heart  in  its  sorrow  forget 

The  poor  little  thing,  'till  at  twilight  I  heard 

A  sound  which  awoke  my  regret. 

'Twas  the  sweet  warbled  notes  of  the  lone  wounded 

bird, 

On  the  window  sill  making  its  moan. 
It  had  moisteivd  its  bill,  in  the  milk  of  the  spoon, 
And  picked  up  the  crumbs  I  had  strewn. 
All  dabbled  in  blood,  was  the  down  on  its  wing. 
And  feint  was  the  carol  it  sung ; 
Was  it  gratitude  prompted  so  tiny  a  thing 
To  warble  that  sweet  little  song  ] 

I  opened  the  casement,  and  bade  it  to  fly, 
To  &  branch  #f  the  sheltering  oak, 


AMAKANTH   BLOOMS. 

When  it  gave  me  a  look  with  its  searching  dark  eye. 

Which  a  pang  of  deep  sorrow  awoke  ! 

A  strange  sudden  thrill  shook  my  grief-laden  breast, 

And  burning  tears  fell  from  my  eyes. 

'Twas  a  fanciful  thought,  I  deem'd  that  rny  guest 

Was  a  messener  bird  from  the  skies  ! 


Long  hours  I  had  watch'd,  in  the  still  summer  night. 

While  the  stars,  their  pale  radiance  shed  : 

For  a  glimpse  of  a  form  from  the  regions  of  light. 

That  had  pillow'd  my  infantile  head  ! 

Dost  come,  stranger  bird,  with  rebuke  in  thy  eve 

To  teach  me  these  vigils  are  vain  ? 

Must  I  yield  to  the  thought,  that  my  agonized  cry. 

Ne'er  can  win  back  the  loved  ones  again  1 

If  this  be  thy  mission,  then  well  hast  thou  sped, 

For  never  again  will  I  pray, 

For  a  glimpse  of  the  loved,  from  this  weary  world 

fled, 

To  the  regions  of  glory  away  ! 
Then  it  plum'd  its  light  wing,  for  the  far  distant  wood 
When  a  strain  of  sweet  music  I  heard, 
Hinging  sweetly  and  clear,  as  I  pensively  stood. 
'Twas  the  song  of  the  messenger  bird  I 
BUFFALO,  July,  1847. 


Jtje  Sroliei 

A      SKETCH      FROM      REAL      LIFE. 

I  met  her  in  the  lighted  halls,  where  the  gay  and 
mirthful  meet ; 

Fair  forms  were  gliding  to  the  sound  of  music  rare 
and  sweet. 

Yet  one,  the  fairest  of  them  all,  in  silence  sat  apart. 

One  pale  thin  hand  upheld  her  brow,  the  other  pressVI 
her  heart, 

As  if  to  still  the  bursting  throb,  that  shook  her  fra 
gile  form, 

Like  a  pale  lily  on  its  stem,  rocked  by  the  windy 
storm. 

The  music  ceased.  A  fair  young  girl,  stole  softly 
to  her  side, 

And  whisperd  low,  some  gentle  words,  that  roused 
her  slumbering  pride : 

One  whose  true  heart  was  link'd  to  hers  by  sweet 
remember'd  years ; 

Long  had  they  shared  each  others  joys,  each  others 
griefs  and  fears. 

She  brushed  the  gathering  tears  away,  and  meekly 
strove  to  prove, 

Though  dead  her  heart  to  all  beside,  she  felt  a  sis 
ter's  love, 


24  AMAEANTH   BLOOMS. 

Again  the  merry  chords  rang  out,  they  led  her  to 

the  dance, 
A  transient  smile  lit  up  her  cheek,  yet  mournful  was 

her  glance ; 
Soft  golden  curls  hung  floating  round  her  neck  of 

snowy  white ; 
Her  step  was  lightest  in  the  dance,   yet  'twas  a 

mournful  sight, 
To  see  a  being  formed  so  fair, — yet  like  the  glorious 

ray 
Of  golden  sunset  o'er  the  hills,  fading  thus  swift 

away ! 

I  could  not  bear  to  gaze  upon  that  mockery  of  woe, 
I  marked  the  palor  of  her  cheek,  its  crimson  hectic 

glow, 
And  inly  vowed  each  art  to  try,  if  haply  I  might 

save, 
That  lovely  radiant  angel  form,  from  the  cold  silent 

grave. 
Days  passed  on,  and  I  became,  the  brother  of  her 

her  heart, 
Yet  Oh,  each  day,  I  saw  with  grief,  some  cherished 

hope  depart! 

One  evening  in  the  depth  of  June,  she  linger'd  by 

my  side, 
A  tear  hung  trembling  in  her  eye,  she  strove  in  vain 

to  hide. 


THE   BROKEN    HEARTED.  25 

lk  'Tia  meet"  she  said,  "that  thou  should' st know, ere 

I  from  hence  depart, 

The  hapless  story  of  my  grief,  and  of  a  broken  heart. 
That  thou  dost  love  me,  gentle  friend,  I  may  not 

disbelieve, 
And  Oh,  for  all  thy  tender  care,  poor  ELLA'S  thanks 

receive. 

14  'Twas  here  beneath  this  leafy  grove,  I  met  my 
buried  love ; 

The  smiling  stars  looked  gently  down,  from  yon 
blue  arch  above ; 

They  witnessed  to  our  plighted  vows,  of  constancy 
and  truth. 

Scarce  had  yon  planet  waxed  and  waned,  ere  that 
beloved  youth 

Was  summon'd  to  the  viewless  bourne,  no  earthly 
skill  could  save, 

And  now  he  lies,  rny  only  love,  where  the  whisper 
ing  willows  wave. 

**  A  blight  then  stole  around  my  heart,  the  deep  o'er 

mastering  power 
Of  grief,  like  canker  gnaws  within,  since  that  dread 

fated  hour. 

I  feel  that  I  am  passing  hence,  yet  not  without  a  tear 
Can  I  depart  from  these  bright  scenes,  aad  all  that 

love  me  here. 
I  cannot  bear  their  yearning  looks,  soon  will  the 

struggle  close, 


26  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

When  this  o'er  wearied  frame  shall  rest,  in  calm  and 
sweet  repose. 

"  Seest  thou  that  large  lone  pensive  star,  that  lights 

the  western  sky  1 
How  oft  within  this  leafy  grove,  my  youthful  love 

and  I, 
Have  watch'd  its  early  rising  beam,  and   wished 

when  life  should  cease, 
To  find  within  its  viewless  bourne,  our  home  of  rest 

and  peace. 
Methinks  e'en  now,  from  yon  sweet  star,  he  beckons 

me  to  come, 
To  share  with  him  in  purity,  his  own  bright  glorious 

home ! 

"  In  twilight's  calm  and  stilly  hour,  oft  have  I  seem'd 

to  hear, 
His  own  lov'd  voice  borne  on  the  breeze,  like  music 

soft  and  clear, — 
Until  the  silent  air   seem'd  filled   with   mournful 

melody. 
Then  fainter,  fainter,  waned  the  sound,  'till  all  had 

passed  away ! 
In  dreams  like  these,  my  spirit  holds  communion 

with  the  dead : 
Soon  shall  I  reach  the  starry  shore,  where  their  light 

footsteps  tread." 

Again  the  golden  summer  sun  coursed  slowly  down 
the  sky, 


THE    BROKEN    HEARTED.  27 

The  pale  moon  hung  her  silver  horn  mid  shining  orbs 

on  high, 
When  lo!    'mid  the  deep  ether  blue,   poor  Ella's 

trysting  star, 
Shone  out  in  brightness  o'er  the  hills  and  western 

vales  afar. 
I  turned  and  sought  her  leafy  bower,  Oh  God!  what 

saw  I  there ! 
It  was  poor  Ella's  clay  cold  corse,  kneeling  as  if  in 

prayer ! 

I  gazed  on  that  clear  marble  brow,  'twas  mournfully 

serene ; 
All  trace  of  life  had  passed  away,  from  that  sweet 

angel's  mien. 
A  clear,  cold,  calm,  and  settled  look,  the  impress  of 

repose, 
Seem'd  resting  on  those  dewy  lids,  whose  mournful 

light  had  closed. 
A  rose  hung  with'ring  on  her  breast,  which  I  that 

morn  had  gave ; 
It  nestles  now  witliiu  her  shroud,  in  her  low  and 

early  grave ! 
JUNE.  1838. 


AN      ALLEGORY. 

A  young  Rose  bowed  her  weary  head, 

And  a  gentle  kiss  received, 
From  the  dark  eyed  Night  who  her  couch  had  spread 

Amid  the  rustling  leaves. 

Morn  came  at  length  'mid  the  dusky  trees, 
And  the  young  Rose  smiling  'woke : 

And  gaily  danced  to  the  gentle  breeze, 
While  the  sun's  bright  glances  broke 

Through  the  fading  mists  of  the  dawning  day, 

And  shone  on  her  spotless  brow  j 
And  a  lovelier  type  of  purity 

Ne'er  was  seen  on  earth  I  trow. 

But  the  burning  glance  of  the  day -god  fell 

On  the  young  Rose  in  her  pride, 
'Till  her  faint  heart  beat  with  a  throbbing  swell, 

And  her  cheek  w ith  blushes  dyed. 

No  friendly  hand  was  raised  to  save 

The  mourner  from  despair ; 
Her  drooping  head  no  longer  braved 

The  day-god's  searching  glare  ! 

With  lightsome  tread  came  the  gentle  breeze, 
Who  had  flown  since  early  dawn, 


CHARITY.  29 

With  a  coursers  speed  across  the  seas. 
And  a  fainting  barque  sped  on. 

Then  it  danced  away  in  its  winsome  mirth. 

To  a  valley  green  and  fair : 
Where'er  its  light  wing  brushed  the  earth. 

A  lovelier  hue  was  there ! 

Then  it  flew  to  the  peasants  lowly  cot 

And  smooth'd  the  brow  of  care. 
When  its  task  was  done  it  linger'd  not. 

But  flew  with  the  speed  of  air, 

To  breathe  on  the  lips  of  a  dying  saint, 

And  a  moment's  breath  was  given, 
In  blessings  pcur'd  with  accents  faint, 

Ere  he  breathed  the  air  of  heaven  ! 

Then  it  fan'd  the  brow  of  a  sleeping  child. 

O'er  wearied  with  its  play : — 
And  the  boy  awoke  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

And  went  his  homeward  way. 

Then  it  came  where  the  young  Rose  fainting  lay 

Neglected  and  alone, — 
And  it  brush'd  the  soiling  dust  away. 

With  its  arms  around  her  thrown  ! 

Then  it  bathed  her  brow  with  the  dimpled  rain. 
And  kissed  away  her  tears ; 


SO  AMAEANTII    BLOOMS, 

And  the  fair  young  Rose  revived  again, 
And  lovelier  still  appears ! 

For  now  her  regal  beauties  wore 

A  mild  and  chasten'd  mien, 
And  she  stretch' d  her  arms  to  embrace  once  more, 

Her  generous  friend  unseen. 

But  the  gentle  breeze  had  onward  sailed, 

When  her  kindly  task  was  o'er ; 
But  her  lightsome  wing  perfume  exhaled, 

In  its  wanderings  evermore. 

Then  she  knew  'twas  the  grateful  Rose  who  pour'd 

Its  fragrance  on  her  wing ; 
Then  merrily  she  onward  soar'd, 

Her  gentle  aid  to  bring, 

To  each  weary  heart,  who  needs  her  care ; 

Thus  like  the  gentle  breeze, 
Sweet  Charity  doth  blessings  share, 

For  the  kindly  aid  she  gives ! 

As  the  gentle  breeze  in  her  flight  inhales 

Perfumes  both  rich  and  rare, 
From  the  lovely  flowers  that  deck  the  vales 

Or  scents  the  mountain  air : 

Thus  the  generous  soul,  whose  timely  aid 
Kindly  and  freely  given. 


THE   INVOCATION.  3X 


To  the  needy  wretch,  is  thrice  repaid, 

By  an  all-seeing  Heaven ! 
NORTH  NORWICH,  June,  1848. 


Jbe 

I  have  watch'd  for  thee  my  friend, 
In  doubt,  and  fear,  and  hope :  thro'  dark  winter^ 

dreary  reign ; 
Now  the  smiling  Spring  has  come,  her  flow'rets  deck 

the  plain, 
Yet  I  watch  for  thee  in  vain  ! 

Wilt  thou  not  hear  my  call  ? 
My  spirit  yearns  for  thee,  as  it  nears  the  boundless 

shore, 
Whence  from  my  viewless  home,  I  can  return  no 

more. 
Oh,  come, — ere  life's  last  pang  is  o'er ! 

Come  to  my  couch  my  friend, 

Bless,  bless  my  longing  sight  ere  I  do  pass  away,— 
My  life  is  swiftly  gliding  day  by  day, 

Like  a  dark  stream  away ! 

I  would  hear  thy  voice  once  more ; 
Methinks  'twould  sweetly  sound  in  this  dull  and  fail 
ing  ear,*— 


AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

w 

Its  hope  inspiring  tones  e'en  my  saddest  hour  could 

cheer, 
Dispelling  every  fear ! 

And  wilt  thou  come  no  more  1 
And  must  my  last  hour  pass  unblest  by  thee  ? 
Oh,  come,  ere  the  dim  curtain  of  eternity 

Is  drawn  'twixt  thee  and  me ! 

Farewell !  sweet  friend,  farewell ! 
My  mournful  heart  is  breaking  at  thy  long  delay, 
Strange  voices  seem  to  chide  my  lingering  stay, 

And  I  must  hence,  away  ! 

Yet  from  that  world  above, 

Shall  I  not  wait  thy  coming  1  where  countless  stars 
Look  out  in  radiant  splendor, — where  no  blight  can 
mar 

The  fadeless  beauty  of  yon  world  afar  ! 

Yet  Oh,  forget  me  not ! 
Deep  in  thy  heart  one  little  space  I  crave, 
For  memory's  urn,  when  the  tall  grass  shall  wave 

O'er  my  low  and  silent  grave ! 

NOTE. — The  Invocation  was  addressed  to  a  dear  friend  in 
the  Spring  of  1840,  when  the  author  seemed  to  linger  for  ma 
ny  months  upon  the  borders  of  the  unseen  world,  in  that  medi 
um  state  betwixt  this  life  and  the  life  to  come,  when  gales  from 
both  worlds  seemed  to  blow  upon  the  cheek :  when  the  soul 
becomes  conversant  with  the  spiritual  realities  of  a  more  eleva 
ted  plane  of  existence,  to  that  degree,  of  which  persons  endow 
ed  with  health  and  engaged  in  the  bus}'  affairs  of  life,  can  form 
no  adequate  idea. 


OH  !  sing  that  song  to  me  once  more, 

My  own  sweet  ISABEL  ! 
Whose  witching  cadence  charm'd  mv  ear. 

As  if  some  fairy  spell 
Had  lurk'd  within  its  glowing  chords : — 

Oh,  sing  that  song  to  me, 
Twill  charm  a  while  the  dismal  roar. 

Of  the  deep  sounding  sea. 

Fear  not.  my  love,  thou'rt  safe  from  harm. 

Tho'  loud  the  billows  roar. — 
And  rudely  dash  their  surging  waves 

Against  this  rocky  shore : — 
With  thy  head  upon  my  faithful  breast. 

Thou  wilt  as  sweetly  sleep, 
As  when  the  downy  pillow  press'd 

Thy  fair  and  blooming  cheek. 

Then  sing  that  song  to  me  once  more, 

My  own  sweet  lady  fair, — 
Whose  witching  cadence  charm'd  mine  ear, 

In  the  proud  halls  of  thy  Sire  : — 
Whose  dark  grey  turrets  cast  their  shade. 

Across  the  rolling  Rhine  ; 
How  could'st  thou  love,  for  me  resign 

That  lordly  home  of  thine  ? 


AMAKANTH    BLOOMS. 

Yet  still  thy  step  is  light  and  free, 

Thine  eye  as  brightly  beams, 
As  when  we  first  our  love  confess'd 

Beside  thine  own  blue  streams ; 
But  cheer  thee  now,  my  bonny  brido, 

And  sing  that  song  to  me, — 
The  proud  Earl  welcomes  home  his  childr 

He  now  is  seeking  thee  ! 

He  miss'd  thy  gay  and  bird-like  tone, 

Within  his  dwelling  lone  ; 
He  bids  thee  now  resume  thy  place, 

Within  his  hearth  and  home. 
Nay,  why  that  look  of  timid  fear, 

I  too  will  go  with  thee, 
And  whereso'er  thou  may'st  abide, 
Thy  William  there  will  be. 

Thy  haughty  Sire  will  not  refuse 

To  own  me  for  a  son, 
When  he  shall  learn  his  child  hath  wed 

The  Earl  of  Clarendon ! 
And  thou  my  bride,  wilt  thou  forgive, 

The  ruse  I've  played  with  thee, — 
Since  'twas  to  win  the  loving  heart 

That  thou  hast  given  me  ? 


Jo  l&tatt)  of 

OF     BINGHAMTON. 

"  Earth  guard  what  here  we  lay  in  holy  trust, 
That  which  hath  left  our  homes  a  darkened  place." 

AT  sunset  hour  yon  hallowed  fane 

Re-echoed  to  the  voice  of  prayer ; 
The  deep-toned  organ's  thrilling  strain, 

Rang  out  upon  the  Summer  air, 

And  slowly  thro'  the  church-yard  gate, 

They  bore  unto  her  final  rest, 
That  lovely  radiant  form,  so  late 

Within  our  homes  an  angel  guest ! 

They  laid  her  in  the  silent  grave, 

Within  yon  church-yard's  lone  retreat ; 
Where  whispering  willows  gently  wave. 

And  flow'rets  blossom  wild  and  sweet ! 
Alternate  gleams  of  light  and  shade, 

Are  resting  on  that  lowly  mound ; 
Where  Summer  birds  their  homes  have  made, 

'Mid  the  tall  poplar's  breezy  sound ! 

There  morn  and  eve,  with1  pinions  spread, 

They  trill  their  joyous  melody  : 
Link'd  with  the  memory  of  the  dead, 

Is  their  sweet  gushing  minstrelsy  ! 
Sing  on  ye  gay  and  merry  birds, 


36  AMARANTH    BLOOMS. 

Your  sweet  and  joyous  notes  prolong ; — 
Since  she  whose  every  pulse  was  stir'd 
By  the  rich  cadence  of  your  song, 

Now  slumbers  where  yon  daisies  bend 

In  silent  worship  o'er  her  grave. 
'Tis  meet  your  sweetest  notes  should  blend 

With  winds  that  chant  her  funeral  stave ! 
For  well  she  loved  all  pleasant  things, 

All  harmonies  of  sight  and  sound : 
Her  lowly  bed  a  place  should  be, 

For  all  things  bright  to  cluster  round. 

A  wreath  of  Jessamine  and  Rose, 

Lies  withering  on  her  tranquil  breast : — 
'Twas  loves  own  gift,  its  sweetness  throws 

A  perfume  round  her  place  of  rest. 
But  ah,  we  miss  her  smiling  face, 

Her  gentle  tones,  her  snowy  brow ; — 
With  lines  of  pure  deep  feeling  traced. 

Her  home  is  with  the  angels  now. — 

Who  late,  with  sweet  accustom'd  grace, 

Moved,  life's  household  cares  among ; — 
Ah,  who  can  fill  her  vacant  place  ? 

One  widow'd  heart  with  sorrow  wrung 
Throbs  wildly,  when  some  gentle  tread 

Across  the  threshold  of  his  door, 
Recalls  the  mem'ry  of  the  dead, — 

A  living  presence  evermore  ! 


fteto 

I  WISH  you  a  happy  New  Year,  friends — 

As  ye  meet  round  the  festive  board 
Remember  the  absent  and  the  loved, 

When  the  bright  red  wine  is  poured. 
They  are  scatter'd  far  and  wide,  friends, 

O'er  the  Prairies  of  the  West : 
And  some  there  are  who  gaily  ride 
O'er  the  Ocean's  billowy  breast ! 

They've  caused  you  many  a  sigh,  friends, 

And  many  a  burning  tear, — 
These  wandering  ones  o'er  land  and  wave. 

And  many  an  anxious  fear. 
Breathe  a  health  upon  the  gale,  friends, 

And  your  prayers  to  God  be  given,- 
That  the  blessed  Christ  may  safely  guide, 

These  wandering  ones  to  heaven  ! 

Here  are  tears,  to  mingle  with  yours,  friends, 

For  the  loved  in  their  narrow  bed  ; 
Oh,  many  a  haunting  tone  and  word, 

Will  recall  the  silent  dead  ! 
Here's  a  welcome  to  each  young  angel  guest, 

In  its  downy  cradle-bed  ! 
And  a  blessing  for  each  young  rosy  face, 

And  each  young  bright  curly  head. 


38  AMAKANTH   BLOOMS. 

Here  are  pansies*  for  all  sad  thoughts,  friend*, 

A  patient  trusting  mind ; 
An  humble  and  an  honest  heart, 

Will  sweet  contentment  find  ! 
I  wish  you  health  and  peace,  friends, 

And  wealth  a  plenteous  store  ! 
But  Oh,  remember  the  starving  poor, 

And  the  beggar  at  your  door. 

1  wish  you  a  happy  New  Year,  friends, — 

And  for  one  and  all  I  pray, 
A  luscious  roast,  and  courses  three, 

Upon  this  festal  day. 
Then  will  ye  pledge  to  me  friendsr 

But  not  in  the  rosy  wine, 
But  in  a  cup  of  fragrant  tea, 

Lov'd  beverage  of  mine  1 

Or  in  a  glass  from  the  crystal  fount, 

Which,  as  Hydropathists  say, 
Will  cool  the  blood  and  clear  the  brain, 

And  drive  each  ill  away  ! 
And  I  will  pledge  to  you,  friends, 

For  my  heart  with  joy  is  light, 
That  my  lot  is  cast  in  a  pleasant  land, 

And  a  brighter  is  yet  in  sight. 

A  brighter  is  yet  in  sight,  friends, 
To  the  eye  of  faith  it  gleams, — 
•Heartsease. 


IN   MEMORY   OF  J.    P.  39 

Far,  far  away  on  the  heavenly  shore, 
With  its  silvery  founts  and  streams. 

And  when  my  songs  shall  cease,  friends. 
And  these  kindly  greetings  are  o'er, 

Rejoice,  that  a  captive  soul  hath  fled, 
To  the  bright,  the  better  shore ! 


In  McirtoiU  of  Mr.  U..  £*****, 

LATE    OF    NORTH    NORWICH,    N.    T., 

Who  died  at  Grand  Rapids.  Mick.,  Feb.  2.  aged  23. 

WELL  may  we  weep,  for  the  pride  of  the  valley 
In  the  glory  of  manhood  has  gone  to  the  grave ! 
With  the  true  sons  of  freedom  no  more  will  he  rallv. 
From  the  grasp  of  oppression  his  country  to  save  : 
Far  away  from  his  home,  they  have  laid  him  to  rest. 
Where  the  wild  Prairie  flowers  will  bloom  on  his 
breast. 

The  Spring  tide  has  come  with  its  sweet  scented 

blossoms, 

Reclothing  with  bloom  the  pale  brow  of  decay  : 
But  alas,  for  the  weary,  the  grief-laden  bosom. 
That  mourns  for  a  lov'd  one  from  earth  pass'd  away  ! 
The  Spring  birds  return  to  their  home  in  the  glen. 
Put  our  brother  hath  gone  to  return  not  again  ! 


4:0  AMAKANTH   BLOOMS. 

Pale  is  that  brow,  with  the  bright  ringlets  shaded, 
The  cold  dew  of  death  on  the  shining  hair  lies. 
The  bright  smile  hath  gone,  and  the  blooming  cheek 

faded  ;— 

Quenched  is  the,  light  of  the  clear  azure  eyes, — 
And  the  tones  of  that  voice,  which  had  gladened 

our  hearth, 
is  like  melody  pass'd  forever  from  earth. 

How  often  at  dawn,  lightly  bounding  from  slumber, 
Might  he  vie  with  the  lark,  in  her  matinal  song  ; 
His  voice  like  a  minstrels,  harmonious  in  number, 
Pour'd  the  full  tide  of  music,  our  valley  along : — 
Never  more  shall   we  hear  those   sweet  echoes 

resound 
From  the  steep  wooded  heights,  which  our  valley 

surround. 

As  he  paused  from  the  chase,  over  mountain  and 
moorland, 

Ye  have  heard  that  rich  strain,  o'er  the  hills  far 
away  ; — 

Waking  dreams  of  the  past,  in  each  chivalrous 
bosom, 

Of  the  romance  of  Eld,  that  has  long  pass'd  away. 

Alas,  that  so  bright  an  existence  should  close, 

While  life  wore  the  charm,  and  the  Couleur  cPRose. 

One  clear  frosty  morn,  when  the  sun  hi  its  splendor, 


IN   MEMORY    OF   J.    P.  4:1 

Gave  a  bright  glowing  hue,  to  each  Autumn  tint 

brown, 

I  heard  for  the  last  time,  now  joyous,  now  tender. 
That  clear  manly  voice,  in  sweet  melody  sound. 
E;en  the  birds  joined  in  chorus,  so  sweet  was  the  lay. 
Tuning  each  little  throat,  from  the  green  leafy  spray. 

Reclined  'neatli  an  oak,  by  the  soft  gliding  river, 
A  farewell  he  sang  to  each  rock,  hill,  and  plain ; 
No  boding  voice  whispered,  his  footsteps  would 

never 

Retrace  the  loved  haunts  of  his  boyhood  again. 
But  destiny  calls,  and  he  must  away  : 
Far  away  from  his  home,  where  the  bright  waters 

play. 

Away  in  the  west,  where  the  light  breeze  is  swelling. 
O'er  broad  green  Savannahs,  and  forests  grown  grey 
With  the  hoar  frost  of  age ; — where  the  wolf  has  his 

dwelling, 

Where  the  timid  deer  bounds  in  wild  freedom  away : 
In  the  sports  of  the  chase  our  loved  brother  stray'd, 
Or  roamed  in  the  depths  of  the  cool  cedar  shade. 

But  death  came  to  chill,  that  young  heart  in  its  glad 
ness: 

That  strong  active  frame,  which  the  wintery  winds 
braved, 

Was  laid  in  the  tomb  !  while  a  deep  wall  of  sadness 

Was  borne  o?er  the  land  like  a  funeral  stave ! 


•i2  AMAKANTH   BLOOMS. 

His  young  sisters  weep,  'till  each  bright  eye  is  dim. 
The  Spring  hath  returned — but  it  bringeth  not  him. 

The  Summer  will  come,  with  its  soft  breezes  wooing 
Their  buoyant  young  footsteps  abroad  with  the  dawn: 
As  they  tread  the  green  paths,  where  flow'rets  are 

strewing, 

The  soft  velvet  turf  of  the  upland  and  lawn. — 
They  will  miss  from  their  side  the  light  bounding 

tread, 
Of  one  who  lies  low  in  his  green-narrow  bed  ! 

They  will  miss  from  their  side,  their  brave  gentle 

brother, 
In  the  long  Winter's  eve,  and  the  bright  Summer's 

morn ; 

His  place  never  more  will  be  fill'd  by  another 
So  loyal  and  true,  as  the  one  that  is  gone  ! 
His  memory  will  live,  enshrined  in  our  hearts, 
'Till  we  go  where  the  beautiful  never  departs  ! 


DECEMBER,  1844. 

a  cold  night,  the  chilly  moon 
Is  drifting  thro'  a  darkling  cloud, 
While  fitfully  the  wintry  wind 
Is  weaving  many  a  snowy  shroud. 


THE     WINTERY    NIGHT.  43 

Tis  a  cold  night, — and  yet  within 

My  little  room,  'tis  warm  and  bright: 

While  Tabby  Cat,  so  neat  and  prim, 
Enjoys  her  share  of  warmth  and  light. 

My  faithful  Dog.  with  honest  face, 

Sits  watching  with  a  curious  eye, 
Each  look,  as  if  he  fain  would  trace 

My  busy  thoughts,  while  passing  by. 

Poor  tray, — I  know  thy  faithful  heart, 
Would  throb  with  pity,  sad  and  sore, 

Could'st  thou  but  read  one  little  part, 
Of  grief,  whose  fountain  welleth  o'er, 

Within  my  sad  and  yearning  breast, 
While  here  upon  this  couch  of  pain, 

Long  weary  years  I've  sought  for  rest, 
And  found  each  effort  all  in  vain  ! 


JO     W^     ¥•     I; 

OF    EARLVILLE. 

I  SOUGHT  in  the  past,  with  lone  weary  yearnings, 
To  find  a  lov'd  spirit  attuned  to  my  own. 

When  I  saw  in  the  distance,  a  radiant  star  burning 
With  a  clear  steady  light. — serenely  it  shone. 


44  AMARANTH    BLOOMS. 

That  star  was  thy  spirit,  its  radiant  light  burning 
In  each  kindling  glance  of  thy  dark  loving  eyes : 

Drew  my  spirit  to  thine,  half  shrinking,  yet  turning 
To  thee,  as  if  drawn  by  invisible  ties. 

Tlien  followed  some  moments  of  spirit  revealing, 

Soul  answering  soul,  in  so  blissful  a  tone, 
That  my  full  heart  pour'd  forth  all  its  wildering 

dreaming, 

Its  faith  'mid  the  darkness  when  beaming  light 
shone, 

Around  my  lone  pathway,  so  darksome  and  dreary, 
When  close  by  rny  side  stood  the  angel  of  doom  ! 

And  like  a  lone  traveler,  way-worn  and  weary, 
I  sighed  for  the  still  quiet  rest  of  the  tomb. 

I  had  turned  from  the  crowd,  with  a  blight  on  my 

spirit, — 
What  cared  they  to  fathom  the  themes  that  I 

prized  ? 

In  the  blue  sky  above,  or  the  earth  we  inhabit, 
What  marvels  held  they,  to  excite  their  surprise  ? 

But  with  thee,  the  pages  of  science  unfolding, 
Which  each  in  the  past  ponder'd  darkly  and  lone. 

By  the  pale  midnight  lamp  shining  dim  thro'  the 

gloaming, 
How  swiftly  the  light-wing'd  moments  have  flown. 


TO   MISS    M.    L.  45 

Then  spake  we  of  life  ! — of  its  aims  and  its  ending, 
Each  trusting  in  Him  who  of  old  trod  the  wave, 

To  aid  us  to  live  like  true  Christians,  defending 
The  regis  of  truth,  with  the  conqueror's  glavc  ! 

Then  spake  we  of  truth ! — not  by  party  strife  driv'n 

To  plant  each  a  standard,  and  followers  crave ; 
But  we  reared  a  bright  beacon,  that  tower'd  unto 

heaven, 

The  same  that  the  bless' d  Sun  of  Righteousness 
gave ! 

Then  spake  we  of  love  ! — of  its  heavenly  mission. 

In  a  land  where  long-suffering  enfeebles  the  strong; 
An  union  of  spirit,  its  highest  fruition, 

The  sole  bond  that  gives  strength  and  endurance 
'neath  wrong. 

Then  spake  we  of  death ! — when  a  faint   tone  of 
sadness 

Betrayed  the  one  dread,  to  leave  darkly  and  lone, 
Our  life-long  companion,  in  sorrow  and  gladness : 

To  the  cold  narrow  house,  our  last  earthly  home ! 

Then  spake  we  of  heaven  !  —  with  fond  rapture 

deeming 
That  when  these  frail  forms  shall  commingle  with 

dust, 

Our  spirits  shall  rnoiuit,  on  angel  wing  gleaming, 
To  receive  each  a  crown, — the  award  of  the  just ! 


THESE  calm  bright  days  of  Summer, 
Who  hath  not  felt  their  sway  ? 

When  the  earth  is  robed  in  splendor  bright, 
As  for  a  festal  day  ; 

And  the  very  air  lies  hush'd  and  still. 
From  morn  'till  twilight  grey. 

IVe  watched  the  sunlight  sleeping, 
O'er  the  hill-side,  and  the  plain  : 

And  the  creeping  shadows  silent  tread, 
O'er  the  waving  grass  and  grain ; 

Till  strange,  deep  yearning  thoughts  awake. 
Within  my  heart  and  brain  ! 

They  waken  dreams  of  heaven, 
And  move  the  heart  to  prayer : — 

I  hear  the  clasp  of  angel  wings 
Upon  the  silent  air, — 

And  my  spirit  lyre  attunes  its  chords, 
With  the  viewless  harpers  there. 

There  are  watchful  eyes  upon  me, 

Among  the  shadowy  band  ; — 
There  is  one,  who  pledged  in  dyingt 

A  pale  cold  pulseless  hand  : 
She  promised  to  be  near  me, 

When  I  tread  the  spirit-land ! 


SUMMER   MUSINGS.  47 

Grew  she  in  our  quiet  garden, 

Like  a  lilly  in  its  pride  ! 
When  pass'd  her  twentieth  summer, 

She  with  the  roses  died. 
Long  weary  years  since  then  have  flown, 

Still  she  lingers  by  my  side. 

One  night,— I  might  not  slumber, 

For  I  knew  the  dead  was  near  ! 
While  on  my  dreamless  couch  I  lay, 

Without  one  thought  of  fear, 

Till  thro'  the  closed  and  drooping  lids, 

I  saw  intensely  clear  ! 

A  gleam  transcending  sunlight, 

Or  the  bright  glow  of  noon  ; 
I  heard  her  light  and  gentle  tread, 

Within  my  silent  room  : 
And  the  rustle  of  her  snowy  dress, 

As  in  her  days  of  bloom  ! 

Then  died  my  heart  within  me, 

As  I  heard  anear  her  tread, — 
The  light  of  her  calm  loving  eyes, 

Their  spirit  glances  shed, 
A  heavenly  dew  upon  my  heart, 

And  o'er  my  fainting  head. 

This  was  but  the  fulfillment 

Of  the  pledge  and  promise  given, — 


48  AMARANTH    BLOOMS. 

A  sign  that  spirit  bonds,  like  ours, 
By  death  may  not  be  riven ! 

Still  firmer  grow  the  bright'ning  links. 
Between  our  hearts  and  heaven  ! 


Hie 

WE  have  come  from  the  starry  shore, 

Far  beyond  the  sea : 
To  bear  thee  hence,  where  grief  no  more. 

Will  thy  portion  be. 
Haste, — haste, — why  delay  1 

Thou  poor  trembling  child  of  clay  ; — 
Plume  thy  wing  and  soar  away, 

Far  beyond  the  sky. 

There  is  sadness  on  thy  pallid  brow, 

And  tears  are  on  thy  cheek  ! 
They  fall  for  those  who  slumber  now, 

In  death's  oblivious  sleep. 
Haste,  then, — no  longer  stay, 

They  have  pass'd  from  earth  away  ; — 
'Mid  the  shining  realms  of  day, 

They  will  welcome  thee  ! 

We  have  seen  their  foreheads  beam, 

With  a  light  divine : 
As  they  wander'd  by  a  flow'ry  stream. 


THE  ANGELS'  CALL. 

Of  that  happy  clime  ! 
They  were  with  a  shining  band, 

Pilgrims  from  earth  barren  land. 
Harps  of  gold  were  in  their  hand. 

And  crowns  upon  their  brow. 

And  they  smiling,  to  us  said, 

Call  the  weary  home  ! 
Gently  lay  each  aching  head, 

'Neath  the  marble  stone. 
Haste,  then. — linger  not, 

Thine  hath  been  a  weary  lot ; 
Earthly  care  is  soon  forgot, 

In  our  happy  home. 

We  have  seen  earth's  fairest  flowers, 

Wither  in  their  prime  ! 
hi  our  home  the  vernal  bowers 

Know  no  blight  of  time  ! 
Haste,  haste. — with  us  soar, 

To  the  bright,  the  starry  shore : — • 
Nought  can  grieve  thy  spirit  more. 

When  thy  rest  is  won  ! 

There  thou  wilt  thirst  no  more 

For  the  living  streams  ! 
Whose  crystal  fountain  welleth  o'er. 

And  murmurs  in  thy  dreams. 
There,  no  more  earth's  care  and  pain. 

Will  thy  weary  heart  enchain ; 


50  AMARANTH    BLOOMS. 

There  the  heart's  deep  burning  rain. 
Will  dim  thine  eyes  no  more  ! 

Thus  the  angels  sang  their  lay 

To  a  dying  saint ! 
While  they  sang,  life's  fleeting  ray 

Grew  more  weak  and  faint ! 
Close,  close,  the  rayless  eye  : — 

Gently  with  that  fainting  sigh, 
Thou  hast  pass'd  to  rest  on  high, — 

Far  beyond  the  tomb  ! 


Jo  3Y|eft)olrlj  of 

LATE    MARGARET    FULLER, 

Who  with  her  husband  and  child  perished  by  ship 

wreck,  on  her  return  passage  to  her  native 

land,  of  Fire  Island,  July,  1850. 

THE  brightest  star  in  our  constellation 

Hath  pass'd  beyond  our  longing  sight. 
We  miss  its  radiant  emanation ; 

Amid  our  orbs,  of  lesser  light — 
Thou  Margaret !  in  etherial  splendor 

Hast  soared  far  up,  and  above  us  all — 
Yet  we  thy  sisters,  our  homage  render, 

While  kneeling  'round  thy  funeral  pall !     '  . 


COUNTESS    OSSOLI.  51 

Thou  hast  bequeath' d  unto  us,  thy  spirit. 

In  many  a  page  of  golden  light ; 
And  we  the  precious  boon  inherit, 

Who  prized  the  dawning  of  thy  might : — 
Thou'st  traced  for  us  the  pure  ideal 

Of  woman, — noble,  virtuous,  good, — * 
Thy  life's  a  page,  of  the  true  and  real. — 

Sign'd  and  sealed,  with  thy  martyr  blood  !f 

We  to  a  nobler  life  are  waking — 

Thy  lowlier  sisters,  yet  one  in  heart ! 
The  chains  of  bondage  around  are  breaking, 

We  will  arise  and  act  well  our  part. 
But  ah,  we  miss  thy  god-like  spirit, 

To  marshal  our  rauks,  against  the  strong — 
We  of  the  younger  race  inherit 

But  thy  love  of  truth,  and  thy  hate  of  wrong. 

It  seems  a  dream,  the  fearful  story, 

That  thou,  in  sight  of  thy  native  land, 
With  thy  soul's  high  gifts,  in  their  summer  glory. 

Did'st  perish,  helpless  on  the  strand  ! 
I  think  of  thee,  on  my  nightly  pillow, 

Far  down  in  thy  liquid  grave  so  low ; 
I  hear  the  sound  of  the  ocean  billow, 

And  the  foaming  wave,  o'er  thy  bosom  flow  I 

Calm  and  serene,  'mid  the  awful  riot, 
Of  the  surging  waves,  as  they  rose  and  fell : 


52  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

Thy  pale  high  brow  wore  a  solemn  quiet, 
While  they  toll'd  for  thee  the  funeral  knell  ! 

As  they  rear'd  their  crests — athirst  for  slaughter, 
No  sound  was  heard,  but  their  deaf  ning  roar; 

With  a  silent  plunge  'mid  the  foaming  water, 
Thou  Margaret  sank,  to  rise  no  more  ! 

A  moan  is  heard  o'er  the  distant  water, 
A  wail  of  grief,  from  Italians  shore — 
A  dirge  for  America's  gifted  daughter, 

Who  toiled  to  sunder  their  bonds  of  yore. 
Rome's  ancient  greatness  hath  long  departed, — 

Yet  hearts  of  the  true  metallic  mold, 
Will  mourn  for  the  strong,  the  noble  hearted, 

O'er  many  a  moonlit  glen  and  wold! 

Rest  faithful  one !  on  thy  ocean  pillow  ! 

The  cause  of  freedom  will  still  prevail ! 
Tho'  we  hang  our  harps  on  the  weeping  willow, 

God's  truth  and  justice  will  never  fail. 
Tho'  darkness  broods  o'er  the  fate  of  nations, 

And  the  earth  is  green  o'er  her  martyr'd  dead ! 
The  stars  that  sang,  at  the  dawn's  creation,^ 

Again  will  sing,  when  the  night  hath  fled  ! 

*  See  Women  of  the  Nineteenth  Century — an  able  and  ex 
cellent  work  by  Margaret  S.  Fuller. 

t  When  requested  by  the  sailors  and  her  friends  to  leave  the 
vessel,  she  steadily  refused,  alledging  that  she  was  willing  to 
suffer  death  with  her  husband  and  child, — but  not  to  live  with 
out  them,  t  Bible. 


Hi 


"  It  was  in  Egypt,  near  Thebes,  as  I  rambled  out  one  morn 
ing  into  the  surrounding  desert,  I  saw  a  Vulture  not  far  from 
me,  sitting  upon  the  ruins  of  a  fallen  monument.  This  bird  is 
known  for  its  strong  powers  of  life,  and  is  dangerous  to  ap 
proach  when  wounded.  I  raised  my  fowling  piece,  and  woun 
ded  him,  as  I  believed,  mortally,  in  the  breast.  He  remained, 
however,  sitting  quietly  in  his  place  :  and  as  I  advanced  to  aim 
the  second  shot,  he  lifted  his  broad  wings  and  mounted  upward. 
Blood  streamed  like  a  torrent  from  his  breast,  while  he  contin 
ued  to  ascend  still  higher  and  higher,  in  wider  and  broader  cir 
cles.  It  was  beautiful  in  that  vast  silent  wilderness,  to  see  this 
bird,  mortally  wounded,  and  dying  the  sands  with  his  blood, 
silently  circling  upon  his  monstrous  wings,  —  the  last  circle  that 
he  made  was  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  extent.  Then 
I  lost  gight  of  him  in  the  blue  space  of  heaven."  —  Travels  in 
Egypt. 

UPON  a  moss-grown  ruin,  a  kingly  Vulture  sat, 
With  his  eagle  glance  upraised  to  heaven,  as  if  to 

scan  the  track 
For  winged  flight  among  the  clouds,  that  veil  tin- 

sun's  bright  face, 
Where  he  joyed  to  spread  his  soaring  whig,  "mid 

the  lofty  realms  of  space, 

Alas,  for  thee  poor  Vulture,  the  fowler  draweth  nigh, 
A  ball  hath  pierc'd  thy  noble  breast,  that  beat  with 
rapture  high 


54  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

At  thought  of  thy  triumphant  flight  'mid  the  blue 

skies  far  away, 
Where  the  thunder  lifts  its  mighty  voice,  and  the 

gleaming  lightnings  play. 

Still  sat  he,  calmly  and  unmoved,  right  kingly  as 

before, — 
While  from  his  torn  and  bleeding  breast,  full  swiftly 

ebVd  the  gore ; 
The  fowler  from  his  covert  springs,  to  deal  the 

murderous  blow, 
While  the  Vulture  gazed  with  scornful  eye,  upon  his 

cruel  foe ! 

There  was  something  strangely  human,  in  the  glance 

of  that  proud  eye, — 
A  searching  glance,  so  clear  and  bold,  and  fill'd  with 

courage  high : — 
Meanwhile  upon  the  desert  sands,  his  life-blood 

flowed  like  rain ; 
But  the  beatings  of  that  kingly  heart,  scarce  death 

itself  could  chain. 

Then   slowly  he  unfolded,  his  large  and  mighty 

wings, 

And  writh  a  shrill  exultant  shout,  aloft  toward  heav 
en  he  springs. 
Then  higher,  and  still  higher  yet,  in  circling  flight 

doth  wend 
The  dying  bird,  whose  soaring  wings  in  loftiest  flight 

ascend. 


THE    EGYPTIAN   VULTURE.  H 

But  that  mighty  wing  ere  long  will  fail,  thine  hour 

of  triumph  past, 
Thou  on  the  deserts  arid  sands,  wilt  lay  thee  down 

at  last ! 
The  victory  was  thine  poor  bird,  thou  distanced  well 

the  foe ; 
There  is  triumph  in  thy  glazing  eye,  tho'  thy  heart 

beats  faint  and  slow. 

There  are  those  like  thee  poor  Vulture,  whom  envy's 

treacherous  dart 
Hath  chill'd   the  life-blood's  crimson  flow,  in  the 

leal  and  trusting  heart ! 
For  them,  bright  wings  are  fashioned,  wherewith 

they  heavenward  soar, 
Triumphantly  ascending,  'till  they  reach  its  blissful. 

shore. 

DECEMBER,  1848. 


MY  home  lay  in  a  sheltered  spot. 

Where  warring  winds  but  seldom  meet. 
The  ring-dove  nestled  o'er  its  top. 

And  paced  the  roof  with  pattering  feet ! 
Long  years  agone,  I  sought  to  hide 

My  ebbing  life  within  its  shade  : 
Where  the  bright  rivers'  glancing  tide, 

Hymn'd  music  o'er  the  flowery  glade, 


AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

The  stock-dove  'plain'd,  her  daily  round 

Thrice  pass'd  the  Summer's  bloom  away, 
Ere  o'er  the  smooth  enameled  ground, 

My  trembling  footsteps  learned  to  stray  ! 
I've  watched  full  many  a  weary  night, 

The  silvery  wavelets  onward  bound ; 
Bathed  in  the  moonbeams  shimmering  light, 

'Mid  starry  islands  floating  down. 

Beneath  the  trailing  Ivy's  shade, 

Gleamed  the  sweet  valley,  sprinkled  o'er 
With  rural  homes,  where  joyous  played, 

Young  children,  by  the  cottage  door  ! 
The  wood  lark  built  within  the  shade, 

And  tuned  the  while  her  merry  lay,- — 
Her  home  of  love  the  robin  made, 

Beneath  the  green  o'er-arching  spray. 

Oh !  there  were  times  mine  inmost  soul 

Responded  to  the  tuneful  choir : — 
Deep  thoughts,  that  would  not  brook  control, 

Rilled  music  from  my  spirit-lyre. 
Soft,  like  the  sea-shells  inborn  strain, 

A  low-voiced  murmur  thrill'd  my  breast : 
'Till  thought  had  swept  the  electric  chain, 

Responsive  to  the  spirits  'quest. 

Then  visions  of  that  world  afar, 

Gleam'd  o'er  my  soul  intensely  bright,—- 


MY    VALLEY    HOME.  57 

Ascending  upward  star  by  star, 

Bathed  in  a  sea  of  crystal  light; 
She  journey M  on  with  heavenward  brow, 

'Mid  the  star  islands  of  the  blest, 
Till  near  the  throne  she  paused  to  bow, 

While  kindling  rapture  thrill'd  my  breast. 

My  soul  would  dream  those  blissful  dreams 

And  glorious  visions  o'er  again ! 
I  scarce  can  catch  one  starry  beam, 

Or  listen  to  one  heaven-born  strain, 
Ere  the  rude  surging  sea  of  care, 

Engulfs  my  life-pearls  'neath  the  wave. 
Oh !  vale  of  beauty,  green  as  fair, 

Thy  holy  Sabbath  quiet  gave, 

A  nearer  glimpse  of  heaven,  than  now, 

Its  pathway  gleamed  with  crystal  light ! 
Nearer  his  throne  I  seem'd  to  bow, 

Whose  love  inspired  my  songs  by  night. 
Another  spring  perfumes  thine  air, 

And  bathes  thy  hills  in  tender  light ! 
Thy  minstrel  hymns  for  thee  a  prayer. 

And  wafts  to  thee  her  last  "  Good  Night !" 


Jt)e  Styl-  of 

In  India  they  are  very  superstitious  about  the  stars.  It  is 
thought  that  if  a  person  is  going  to  die,  that  the  star  of  his  des 
tiny  is  visible  to  every  eye  but  his  own. 

BENEATH  the  waving  branches  of  the  Chestnut  and 

the  Lime, 
Two  brothers  walked,  at  close  of  day,  in  the  depth 

of  summer  time : 

One  was  of  noble  bearing — of  tall  and  stately  mien 
The  other  was  a  fair  haired  boy,  pale,  quiet  and  se 
rene  : 

His  eye  of  kindling  azure,  outshone  the  stars  of  even 
And  the  cadence  of  his  gentle  voice,  seem'd  an  echo 
caught  from  Heaven. 

He  was  a  guileless  creature,  and  that  strange  uncer 
tain  light, 
That  sometimes  marks  the  early  called,  gleamed  o'er 

his  brow  of  wiiite — 
It  nestled  in  his  wavy  hair,  and  beam'd  within  his 

eye — 
And  like  the  last  faint  lingering  glow  of  summer 

sunset  dye, 
It  lighted  up  his  pale  sweet  face,  with  an  unearthly 

ray- 
Thus  blooms  the  summers  rarest  flowers,  doom'd 
earliest  to  decay. 


THE    STAB    OF   DESTINY.  59 

Few  were  the  words  then  spoken — the  parting  hour 
drew  nigh, 

Nights  brilliant  coronet  of  gems,  gleam'd  in  the 
azure  sky ; 

Said  William :     There's  my  chosen  star,  wilt  thou 
at  vesper  chime, 

Dear  brother  greet  its  early  beam  ? — 1  too,  from  In 
dia's  clime, 

Will  gaze  upon  it  in  that  hour,  our  glances  thus  shall 
meet 

Across  the  wide  and  distant  sea,  in  spirit  union  sweet! 

They  parted  !     On  another  eve.  across  the  ocean's 

tide, 
A  noble  vessel  sped  her  way ;  ranged  gleaming  at 

her  side, 
A  seried  line  of  bristling  spears,  and  the  long  and 

deadly  gun, 
The  martial  bearing  of  her  crew,  proclaimed  high 

deeds  were  done, 
By  England's  flower  of  chivalry,  on  land  as  on  the 

main ; 
Where  shouts  of  death  or  victory,  drown  the  death 

cry  of  the  slain. 

Among  those  valiant  warriors,  stood  a  youth,  whose 

flashing  eye 
Had   caught  the  glow  of  chivalry ;  his  pulse  was 

beating  high. 


<i  --•',- 

00  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

At   thoughts   of  noble  trophies  won,   in  many   a 

bloody  fray, — 
When  lo  !  a  star  hath  caught  his  view,  his  thoughts 

are  far  away : — 
Ah,  well  he  knows  that  loving  eyes  are  gazing  from 

afar, 
Perchance  thro'  dim  and  blinding  tears,  upon  that 

evening  star! 

Again  they  met !    four  years  had  passed,  and  that 

young  brother  came 
To  win  beside  the  eldest  born  promotion  and   a 

name ! 
Again  they  walked  beneath  the  light  of  a  summer 

moonlit  sky, 
The  younger  brother  smiling  said,  as  he  turn'd  his 

gaze  on  high : 
Lo  William,  there's  your  chosen  star,  I  ne'er  have 

failed  to  greet 
Tt-s   friendly   light   at   vesper  time,    thine   earnest 

glance  to  meet. 

With  kindly  pressure  of  the  hand,  the  elder  born 

replied, 
Hast  thou  not  marked  yon  lovely  star  in  the  glow 

of  eventide? 
I've  named  it   thine  !    In  its  clear  light  thy  loving 

gaze  I  see, 
Like  eyes  of  seraphs,    glancing  down,  from   that 

bright  star  to  me. 


THE    STAB    OF   DESTINY.  61 

Lo  now  it  shines  just  o'er  our  heads,  clear  and  in 
tensely  bright. — 

But  to  the  younger  of  the  twain,  that  star  was  hid 
from  sight ! 

A  boding  sense  of  coming  ill,  a,  sudden  thought  of 

fear, 
Thrill'd  thro'  that  brother's  yearning  heart,   and 

wrung  a  starting  tear ; 
A  mournful  legend  of  the  stars,  heard  in  an  evil 

hour, 
Forgotten  as  an  idle  tale,  recurred  with  thrilling 

power. 
In  vain  he  pointed  to  the  star,  still  Clarence  gazed 

in  vain, — 
Next  eve  his  pale  and  beauteous  corse  was  found 

amid  the  slain  ! 


a 


"  I  suppo?e  you  will  become  a  very  poetic  angel,  when  tiie- 
embodied,  and  wreathe  the  world  of  mind  into  melody !  I 
should  like  to  live  after  this  state  of  things  exists, — so  that  it 
may  be  breathed  into  my  soul  at  twilight,  and  entrance  me 
with  spiritual  melody,  while  I  yet  esist  in  the  present  life,  pre 
paratory  to  that  higher,  holier,  sublimer  life,  we  now  live  to 
ennoble  for." — Letter  from  a  friend. 

An,  yes,  gentle  friend,  thou  hast  rightly  divined 
That  when  I  shall  sink  to  my  rest, 


62  AMAKANTII    BLOOMS. 

And  my  wild  harp  hath  breath'd  its  last  sigh  to  the 
wind, 

And  the  green  turf  is  laid  on  my  breast, — 
That  swiftly  I'll  soar  like  an  angel  of  light, 

To  retime  my  hush'd  lyre  in  the  skies, — 
And  swreetly  I'll  sing  in  the  clear  starry  night, 

While  the  light  wing  of  sleep  veils  thine  eyes ! 

Perchance,  lovely  dreamer,  I  yet  shall  descend 

From  some  radiant  orb  of  the  bless' d, — 
And  as  a  fond  mother  doth  soothingly  bend 

To  lull  her  tired  infant  to  rest, 
E'en  thus  would  I  soothe  thee,  when  weary  and  worn, 

And  sing  thee  most  gently  to  sleep  : 
And  waft  thee  in  dreams  to  my  far  distant  home, 

Where  the  mourner  forgets  e'en  to  weep ! 

I  would  sing  to  thee,  love,  of  the  heaven  thou'lt  win, 

By  thy  life  of  devotion  and  truth. 
Thou  hast  waged  a  stern  warfare  with  falsehood  and 
sin, 

And  ennobled  thy  beautiful  youth  ! 
My  soul  hath  a  mission  thou  hast  not  divined, 

Enshrined  in  this  frail  sinking  form  : 
Is  a  spirit,  tho'  gentle,  aye  patient,  and  kind, 

That  'recks  not  the  wind  or  the  storm ! 

Should  the  fierce  chilling  blast  of  adversity  blow, 
And  thy  soul  seem  bereft  of  its  power  : 


A    REPLY.  63 

While  the  fast  falling  tears  down  thy  pallid  cheek 
flow. 

I  will  whisper  to  thee.  in  that  hour ! 
And  infuse  in  thy  soul  the  high  courage  that  takes 

Deepest  root,  'ueath  adversity's  storm. — 
The  spirit  that  bends  to  the  blast,  yet  ne'er  break*. 

Can  a  host  of  misfortunes  disarm. 

Thro'  the  feir  fields  of  science,  thy  footsteps  now 

roam, 

Culling  sweets,  like  the  wild  honey  bee, — 
While  thy  soul  plumes  its  wings  for  the  heavenly 

home, 

Thro'  the  voices  that  whisper  to  thee. 
Like  the  soft  breathing  zephyr,  that  bears  on  its 

wings 

The  perfume  of  sweet-scented  flowers, 
Thou  hast  the  sweet  art,  to  extract  from  each  thing. 
The  bloom  of  life's  sunniest  hours  ! 

I  know  that  thy  pathway  lies  distant  and  lone, 

Far  away  near  the  deep-sounding  sea ! 
Could  spirits  like  thine,  daily  gladden  my  home, 

That  home  would  be  heaven  to  me  ! 
Tho'  the  far-distant  hills,  and  the  dark  rolling  mam, 

Divide  thy  loved  spirit  from  mine, 
I  know  we  shall  meet,  to  part  not  again, 

By  many  a  token  and  sign. 


64  AMAEANTII   BLOOMS. 

We  shall  meet  in  that  land,  where  the  kindred  in 

mind, 

Are  no  longer  led  captive  by  fate  ; — 
Where  the  sweet  chords  of  love,  and  affinity  hind. 

Each  soul  to  its  wandering  mate  ! 
I  shall  know  thee,  beloved,  by  thy  soft  flowing  hair. 

Thy  white  cheek  and  radiant  brow  ! — 
Yet  I  know  not,  sweet  friend,  if  the  smile  thou  wilt 

wear, 

Will  seem  more  angelic  than  now ! 
EARLVILLE,  September,  1849. 


of  St.  £eie!-. 

WHOEVER  journey eth  thro'  imperial  Rome, 
By  many  a  slender  spire  and  massive  dome, 
Will  find  outside  of  St.  Sebastian's  gate, 
A  little  church,  time-worn  and  desolate  ; — 
Of  antique  form  and  mold,  yet  still  entire. 
Still  sounds  the  organ,  and  the  tuneful  choir 
Meet  to  commemorate  in  solemn  strains, 
A  legend  of  the  past.     Times  dusty  stains 
Hath  somewhat  marr'd  the  picture  of  the  scene. 
The  legend  doth  unfold.     It  once  had  been 
A  splendid  painting,  by  Bernini*  wrought : 
That  glorious  artist  whose  creative  thought 
Glows  on  the  canvas, — o'er  the  marble  gleams, 
A  breathing  image,  so  like  life  it  seems. 


LEGEND    OF   ST.    PETER. 

The  scene  describes  a  winding  path  and  lawn. 
O'er  which  St.  Peter  hies,  at  early  dawn, 
Near  the  great  highway,  leading  from  the  gate. 
Of  the  proud  seven-hill'd  city.     A  cruel  fate 
Awaits  him  'neath  her  walls  !     ?Twas  at  the  time 
When  Rome  was  fill'd  with  murder,  blood  and  crime. 
When  thirst  for  human  gore  had  reached  its  height. 
Peter  alarmed,  had  plan'd  a  hasty  flight, — 
So  saith  the  legend, — as  anear  he  drew 
Unto  the  highway,  straight  before  his  view, 
A  shining  figure  pass'd  him  as  he  fled, 
With  rays  of  glory  circling  round  its  head! 

And  Peter  knew  his  Lord,  and  straightway  cried. 
Master,  where  goest  thou  1     And  the  Lord  replied. 
Mine  ear  hath  heard  my  people's  dying  'plaints. 
I  go  to  Rome,  to  perish  with  the  saints ! 
The  keen  rebuke  these  simple  words  imply, 
Admonish'd  Peter !  who  dared  not  deny 
Again  his  blessed  Lord.     Swift  he  retraced 
His  way  to  Rome,  and  in  the  market  place 
He  boldly  spake  of  Jesus  !     They  drew  near, 
And  Peter  bound,  went  with  them  without  fear  ! 
With  his  head  downward,  nailed  unto  the  tree, 
Peter  expired — affirming  it  to  be, 
To  die  like  Christ,  too  great  a  dignity  ! 

*  Bernini  died  at  Rome,  at  the  age  of  82  years,  having  won 
for  himself  great  honor  and  wealth.     Like  Michael  Angcio,  he 


IN  his  studio  sat  the  artist, 

Bowed  in  deep  and  earnest  thought. 
O'er  a  sweet  unfinished  picture, 

Which  his  skillful  hand  had  wrought. 
Long  and  wistfully  he  ponder'd 

Ere  the  inspired  moment  came, — 
Like  a  sudden  gleam  of  sunlight, 

Kindling  his  rapt  soul  in  flame. 

Clear  before  his  mental  vision, 

Wreathed  in  soft  effulgent  light, 
Dawn'd  three  sweet  ideal  pictures, 

Of  the  Sunrise,  Noon  and  Night. 
Soon  a  model  for  the  sunrise, 

Lovely  as  the  morning  rays, 
'Mid  a  group  of  village  children, 

Met  the  artists  yearning  gaze. 

was  at  once,  sculptor,  painter,  and  architect,  and  his  cotempo- 
raries  placed  him  upon  the  same  elevation  of  that  great  man. 
He  was  patronized  by  Popes  Urban  VIII.,  Alex.  VII.,  Inno 
cent  X.,  and  was  invited  to  France  by  Louis  XIV.  Rome  still 
exhibits  many  of  his  works,  both  in  sculpture  and  architecture  ! 

*  The  tenor  of  this  poem  will  indicate  that  the  main  inci 
dents  in  its  composition  were  drawn  from  Miss  Chesebro's 
beautiful  story  of  the  three  portraits. 


THE   THBEE   POETEAITS.  67 

Clouds  of  golden  ringlets  clustered 

'Round  her  neck  and  snowy  brow : 
Beam'd  her  eyes  deep  porphyry  lustre, 

'Neath  their  blue  vein' d  lids  of  snow. 
Soon  from  out  the  glowing  canvas, 

Waking  as  from  slumber  mild, 
Beam'd  the  image  of  the  sunrise, 

A  beauteous  earth-born  angel  child. 

It  was  in  truth  a  lovely  picture, 

Critics  long  admiring  gazed 
O'er  the  sweet  and  fair  proportions, 

Fleck'd  with  showers  of  golden  rays. 
Still  the  artist,  at  his  Easel, 

Labored  many  a  weary  hour, 
Painting  copies  of  the  sunrise, 

Winning  each  a  golden  dower  ! 

Then  in  foreign  climes  he  wander'd, — 

'Mid  Grecian  sculpture  long  he  sought, 
Fitting  model  for  the  noonday, 

Answering  to  his  burning  thought. 
Passing  'neath  a  lofty  portal, 

Floods  of  'wildering  music  stole 
O'er  the  artist's  senses,  filling 

With  rapt  dreams  of  heaven,  his  soul ! 

While  he  gazed,  a  rapt  expression 

Bathed  the  minstrels  brow  with  light ; 


68  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

Crown'd  with  amber  braids,  whose  texture 
Gleam'd  like  snow  flakes  in  the  night. 

It  was  the  same,  the  sweet  ehild  angel. 
Matured  to  lovely  woman  now : 

The  same  soft  trace  of  spiritual  beauty, 
Still  lingered  o'er  her  snowy  brow  ! 

Now  the  artist  at  his  Easel, 

Labor'd  on  from  dawn  'till  night ; 
Soon  beside  the  lovely  sunrise, 

Flash'd  the  noonday's  golden  light. 
But  the  fearful  thought  came  o'er  him, 

That  the  source  whence  he  had  gain'd 
The  two  models  for  his  pictures, 

Thence  the  last  might  be  obtain'd  ! 

Mournfully  the  sad  ideal 

Arose  before  him  of  the  night ; 
Alas,  that  time  should  make  it  real, 

The  crowning  effort  of  his  might ! 
In  after  years,  three  striking  portraits 

Fulfilled  the  artists  dream  of  fame. 
The  night,  (a  portrait  dark  and  fearful,) 

Sunrise  and  noonday  were  the  same  ! 

The  brow  had  lost  its  spiritual  beauty, 
The  eyes  their  radiant  heavenward  look  ; 

A  very  fiend  was  she  in  scorning, 

Their  baleful  lustre  few  could  brook  ! 


A   DEE<JE.  69 

But  Oh,  the  awful  moral  lesson, 

Graved  on  that  brow,  in  words  of  flame  ! 

Its  bold  defiant  look  and  bearing, 

Proclaimed  her  downward  path  of  shame ! 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  PRESIDENT  TAYLOR. 

"  The  lightnings  may  flash,  and  the  loud  thunder  rattle, 
He  heeds  not,  he  hears  not, — he's  free  from  all  pain  ; 

He  sleeps  his  last  sleep,  he  has  fought  his  last  battle, 
No  sound  can  awake  him  to  glory  again  !" 

ROOM  for  the  glorious  dead, 
Ye  statesmen,  heroes,  tenants  of  the  tomb  ! 
Room  for  the  loved !  our  country's  honor'd  head. 
Whose  loss  hath  fill'd  a  nation's  heart  with  gloom. 

Wreath'd  in  perennial  bloom, 
Within  our  hearts  his  memory  we  enshrine, 
While  ';  dust  to  dust"  we  mournfully  resign. 

A  bright  career  hath  closed ! 
A  patriot  chief,  with  age  and  honors  crown'd 
Goes  down  in  silence  to  his  long  repose  ; 
While  sounds  of  grief  swell  mournfully  around, 

Deep,  solemn,  and  profound. — 
A  nation's  love  could  not  enchain  thee  here, 
Thy  soul  hath  parted,  for  a  brighter  sphere. 


70  AMAKANTH   BLOOMS. 

Green  are  thy  laurels  won, 
On  Palo  Alto,  and  La  Palma's  field,* 
On  Buena  Vista's  heights  the  setting  sun 
Exultant  kiss'd  thy  bright  triumphant  shield, — •» 

The  foe  was  forced  to  yield. 
A  noble  victory  was  thine,  the  day 
Our  country's  colors  waved  o'er  Monterey  ! 

The  silver  trump  of  fame, 

With  clarion  voice  proclaims  thy  deeds  of  might ! 
No  sad  reverses  could  thy  courage  tame, 
Nor  faction's  frowns  thy  steadfast  soul  affright, — 

Tho'  clothed  with  fearful  might. 
In  the  calm  wisdom  of  thine  honor'd  years 
We  look'd  for  strength, — and  sooth'd  our  anxious 
fears ! 

But  yesterday,  and  thou, 

With  thy  kind  smile,  thy  frank  and  noble  mien, 
Moved  'mid  the  throng  of  stately  guests, — and  now 
In  halls  of  pleasaunce,  thou  no  more  art  seen, 

Calm,  peaceful  and  serene. 
Low  lies  thine  honor'd  head  upon  the  bier, 
With  summer  blossoms  crown'd,  and  many  a  tear. 

How  many  a  stately  form, 
The  sword  of  battle  by  thy  side  clove  down ; 

*  Resaca  de  la  Palma,  a  field  of  Palms.  Resaea  has  no 
just  equivalent  in  our  language.  It  signifies  a  pool  or  swamp  v 
where  the  tide  ebbs  and  flows, 


A   DIRGE.  ll 

Thy  snow-white  charger  plunged  amid  the  storm 
Of  clashing  spears,  dealing  destruction  'round, 
With  fearless  stride  and  bound ! 
An  unseen  hand  the  swift  lance  turned  aside. 
The  winged  shaft  glanced  harmless  by  thy  side  ! 

And  yet  death  found  thee.  where 
He  seem'd  a  startling  and  forbidden  guest ! 
:Mid  stately  halls,  where  gilded  trappings  are 
But  idle  mockery  to  the  weary  breast, 

By  care  and  grief  oppressed  !f 
And  the  hearts  fainting  thirst,  that  all  may  know. 
Who  prove  like  thee,  life's  false  unreal  show. 
****** 

Thick  darkness  broodeth  o'er 
The  bright  pavilion  of  Jehovah's  throne  ! 
In  vain  we  strive  his  mysteries  to  explore, 
His  ways  are  not  to  puny  mortals  known ; 

No  sounding  line  hath  thrown 
Light  on  the  past,  its  shadowy  haze  to  clear, 
While  we  in  sorrow  bend  around  thy  bier. 

'Tis  well  thus  to  depart. 
In  the  full  zenith  of  thy  power  and  fame, 
Bearing  the  love  of  many  a  grateful  heart. 

t  It  is  a  well  known  fact  that  the  last  days  of  the  President 
were  embittered  by  party  strife  and  violent  dissensions  !  For 
several  days  preceding  his  dissolution,  his  mental  suffering 
nearly  equaled  his  physical. 


72  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

Beyond  the  sullying  breath  of  envious  blame, 

That  wreck'd  thy  sinking  frame. 
By  the  still  waters,  near  the  tree  of  life, 
Thou  wilt  forget  earth's  turmoil  and  its  strife. 

With  grief  and  many  tears, 
We  mourn  for  thee,  our  father  and  our  friend  ! 
Ah,  who  will  guide  us  thro'  the  evil  years, 
From  dangers  shoals  the  helm  of  State  defend  ? 

Do  thou  in  mercy  send 

Wisdom  and  strength,  our  Father,  from  on  high,- 
Grant  us  thine  aid,  when  danger  hovereth  nigh. 


THE  yellow  Autumn  days  have  come, 

And  vanished  from  the  sky, 

Are  the  blushing  hues  of  the  summer  morn, 

And  the  summer  sunset  die. 

An  icy  chill  is  on  the  gale, 

As  the  twilight  shades  draw  nigh, — 

And  the  silvery  moon  looks  cold  and  pale, 

As  on  her  distant  path  she  sails, 

In  the  cloudless  azure  sky. 

The  reaper  stands  by  the  gather'd  sheaves, 
Of  the  ripe  and  golden  corn  ; — 
And  the  wild  bee  toils  'mid  the  wither'd  leaves, 
As  he  winds  his  tiny  horn, 


AUTUMN.  73 

The  air  is  filled  with  the  floating  haze, 
Of  the  light-winged  thistle-down  : 
Which  many  a  graceful  curve  displays, 
In  aerial  flight,  and  winding  ways, 
In  its  circuit  to  the  ground. 

The  rainbow  hues  of  the  gorgeous  woods, 

And  the  ripe  and  golden  grain, — 

And  the  desert  fields  where  it  waving  stood, 

Fill  my  heart  with  a  sense  of  pain. 

They  speak  to  me  of  other  days, 

When  with  volant  steps  I  trod 

With  loved  ones  through  the  leafy  maze, 

Of  the  woodland's  dim  and  winding  ways, 

Who  slumber  'neath  the  sod  ! 

I  know  not  why,  but  Autumn  brings 

Their  memory  to  mind ; 

Consoeiate  with  all  faded  things, 

That  the  frost  has  left  behind  ! 

I  think  of  them  in  the  narrow  bed, 

Wrhile  the  storm  swells  loud  and  high, 

Till  my  heart  is  filled  with  a  nameless  dread, 

And  I  long  to  lay  my  weary  head, 

In  slumber  where  they  lie  ! 

Not  so,  when  the  genial  Spring  appears, 
Her  countless  joys  to  bring : 
Their  gentle  tones  my  spirit  cheers, 
Borne  on  the  zephyr's  wing  ! 


74:  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

When  the  busy  household  cares  are  o'er, 

They  linger  by  my  side  ! 

And  I  often  list  as  in  days  of  yore, 

For  their  lightsome  tread,  on  the  sounding  floor, 

In  the  hush  of  eventide. 

When  Summer  comes,  I  wreathe  for  them 

The  flowers  they  loved  to  wear : 

And  I  oftimes  dream  of  twining  flowers, 

'Mid  their  shining  braids  of  hair  ! 

I  know  ere  long  I  too  shall  rest, 

In  my  low  and  narrow  bed, — 

In  the  leafy  month  that  I  love  the  best, 

When  earth  in  her  bridal  robe  seems  drest, 

I  would  lay  me  with  the  dead  ! 


Hie 

OH  !  many  an  hour  I've  whiled  away, 
Beside  the  evening  hearth : 
Watching  the  wood-fires  cheerful  ray, 
While  fancy  soar'd  on  pinions  gay, 
Roaming  abroad  the  earth. 

Then  many  a  long  forgotten  scene, 
Fond  mem'ry  doth  restore  ! 
And  friends  whose  very  form  and  mien, 
Long  vanish'd  from  our  hearts  hath  been, 
Return  to  us  once  more ! 


THE    EVENING   HEAKTH.  75 

While  yesternight  the  wood-fires  blaze 
Gleam'd  brightly  o'er  the  hearth, 
A  halcyon  dream  of  other  days, 
Recalled  before  my  spirit's  gaze, 
One,  lately  fled  from  earth  ! 

I  knew  her  when  a  little  child, 
And  side  by  side  we  grew, — 
Like  a  twin  flow'ret  of  the  wild, 
Her  sweet  face  wore  a  sunny  smile, 
Nor  care,  nor  grief,  she  knew  ! 

E'en  now  her  large  dark  lustrous  eyes, 
Seem  gazing  in  mine  own  ; 
The  mirror'd  depths  of  sunny  skies, 
(When  moved  with  joy  or  sweet  surprise,) 
In  their  bright  glances  shone. 

And  yet  there  lay  a  light  more  deep, 
'Neath  their  bright  sunny  tone, 
WThich  made  the  gazer  long  to  weep, 
When  full  upon  him,  clear  and  deep, 
Their  mournful  lustre  shone. 

It  seem'd  as  if  a  shadowy  gleam, 
Of  some  bright  happier  state, 
E'er  mingled  with  her  waking  dream  : 
Making  the  present  only  seem, 
More  rude  and  desolate ! 


76  AMAKANTH   BLOOMS. 

And  when  with  rapt  uplifted  eye, 
She  touched  the  sounding  keys, 
A  seraph  scarce  might  choose  to  vie, 
In  strains  of  'wildering  melody, 
That  floated  on  the  breeze. 

We  parted  in  our  girlhood's  prime, 
And  went  our  separate  ways, — 
My  sweet  friend  to  a  distant  clime, 
Where  summer  suns  more  brightly  shine, 
And  stars  more  brightly  blaze  ! 

'Neath  the  waving  branches  of  the  Lime, 
They  made  her  lowly  bed  ; 
In  the  early  blush  of  summer  time, 
When  earth  seem'd  robed  in  hues  divine, 
They  laid  her  with  the  dead  ! 


ftolrtoiclj 

I  KNOW  not  of  a  lovelier  vale, 

Than  thine,  embower'd  amid  the  hills, — 
Where  summer  flowers,  their  sweets  exhale, 

By  sylvan  founts,  and  winding  rills. 

Betwixt  the  willow  and  the  thorn, 
Chenango's  silvery  waters  gleam, — 

Where  the  merry  birds  ring  forth  at  morn 
Their  music,  o'er  its  quiet  stream. 


NORWICH    VALLEY.  «  • 

Here  many  a  shady  cool  retreat, 

Is  woven  by  the  trailing  vine  : 
Its  pale  pink  blossoms,  wild  and  sweet. 

Are  scattered  by  the  passing  wind ! 

The  Primrose  waves  its  flowery  crest, 
Midway  adown  the  winding  stream  : 

And  pendant  o'er  its  glassy  breast, 
The  trembling  water  lillies  gleam. 

And  here,  methinks,  the  clover  yields 
A  sweeter  scent  in  the  dewy  morn  ; 

More  brightly  gleam  the  harvest  fields. 
And  greener  grows  the  standing  corn  ! 

A  richer  verdure  clothes  the  mead, 
And  broader  lies  the  elm  tree  shade. 

And  whiter  seem  the  flocks  that  feed 
Along  the  green  and  flow'ry  glade. 

And  here  our  aged  father's  sleep, 

Lords  of  the  soil,  long  time  agone, — 

Where  waving  poplars  silent  keep 

Their  watch,  o'er  many  a  moss-grown  stone. 

And  here  my  last  faint  song  may  swell. 

Ere  tuned  to  loftier  notes  above, — 
Breathing  a  kind,  and  last  farewell, 

To  the  valley  and  the  friends  I  love  ! 

NOTE. — The  ode  to   the  Chenango   and  Norwich  Valley 

were  written  for  H and  E ,  daughters  of  Mr.  A 

P ,  and  presented  to  them  severally  on  the  instance  of  their 


of 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  DYING. 

AND  is  there  no  hope  ! 
And  must  the  beautiful  in  youth  depart  1 
Ere  time  hath  chill'd  the  fondly  trusting  heart, 
Or  laid  one  shadow  on  that  sunny  brow, 
So  delicately  fair  !     I  see  thee  now, 
E'en  as  thou  wast,  but  one  short  year  ago  ! 
When  o'er  thy  cheek  beam'd  the  soft  healthful  glow. 
I  hear  thy  gentle  voice,  thy  lightsome  tread, 
Oh,  God  !  and  must  thou  lay  thy  young  bright  head 
In  the  dark  gloomy  grave  1     'Tis  even  so  ! 
And  meekly  thou  dost  wait,  the  last  decisive  blow. 

I've  watch'd  the  coming  Spring, 
With  many  an  anxious  fear  and  secret  hope. 
What  time  the  budding  flowers  their  petals  ope, 
I  deem'd  thou  would' st  revive !     But  thou,  alas ! 
To  the  lone  silent  tomb,  wast  journeying  fast ; 
Thy  wasted  fingers  clasp  the  blooming  flowers, 
Sent  by  some  friend,  to  cheer  thy  weary  hours. 
The  fragrant  odors  wafted  from  their  leaves, 
Around  thy  couch,  life's  farewell  sweetness  breathes. 

marriage  and  removal  to  Ohio,  as  a  memorial  of  their  birth 
place,  and  of  the  author's  friendship  and  esteem. 


SONGS    OF   DEATH. 


79 


To  thee,  they  whisper,  of  a  brighter  shore, 
Where  pain  and  death  can  never  reach  thee  more. 

I  would  not  linger  here, 
To  pine  in  weariness,  when  thou  art  gone ! 
Too  deeply  have  I  loved  thee  ;  and  too  strong 
Hath  been  the  tie  that  bound  us,  thus  to  be 
Sever' d  by  death  !     I  would  depart  with  thee : — 
And  where  thou  liest,  I  too,  would  lay  me  down. 
And  with  thee  slumber,  'neath  one  verdant  mound  ! 
Have  we  not  said,  that  love  like  ours  would  last. 
When  the  dark  threshold  of  the  tomb  is  past  ? 
Hath  not  our  faith,  our  hopes,  our  fears,  been  one "? 
And  have  we  not  through  all,  thus  fondly  clung 
To  this  one  hope  ?     Nor  shall  that  hope  be  riven 
From  this  worn  breast,  'till  we  do  meet  in  heaven ! 

Why  mourn  for  thee  ? 

Thus  early  called  from  earth's  dark  cumbering  care, 
Our  path  is  one  !     Soon  shall  I  meet  thee,  where 
The  quenchless  yearnings,  and  the  weary  thirst 
For  fadeless  rills,  where  living  fountains  burst, 
Can  never  more  be  mine  !     A  weary  dower 
Hath  the  lone  heart,  that  feels  the  kindling  power 
Of  aspirations,  all  too  high  for  earth ! 
Yet  these  shall  be  fulfilFd,  whence  they  have  birth  : 
And  sever'd  hearts  shall  meet  in  yonder  clime, 
Nor  feel  no  pang  of  fate,  no  blight  from  time. 


80  AMARANTH    BLOOMS. 

TO  JEANA,  IN  HEAVEN. 
Died  Jan.  24,  1846. 

CEASE,  cease,   poor   heart,   thy  wild  tumultuous 

beating, 

Fain  would  I  hush  the  frenzy  of  my  "brain, 
And  think  now  only  of  the  joy  of  meeting 
My  lost  JEANA,  where  no  grief  nor  pain 
Can  e'er  disturb  thy  fond  and  faithful  breast, 
So  soon  within  the  narrow  grave  to  rest, 
In  death's  oblivious  sleep ! 

Oh,  best  beloved !     The  pale  moonbeams  are  sleep 
ing 

Upon  thy  shroud  !  while  I  who  wept  and  prayed, 
To  die  with  thee,  the  lone  night  watch  am  keeping  : 
With  streaming  tears,  invoking  heaven  for  aid. 
To  bow  in  meekness  to  God's  holy  will, — 
And  tho'  he  slay  me,  love  and  trust  him  still. 
In  the  dark  stormy  hour. 

Oh,  loved  Jeana,  whither  has  thy  spirit 
Found  refuge  from  this  weary  world  of  care  ? 
I  often  fancy  that  thou  dost  inhabit 
Yon  large,  lone,  brightly  beaming  evening  star  ! 
How  oft  together  in  the  stilly  night, 
We've  sat  and  watch'd  its  pure  and  holy  light. 
Arid  held  communion  high ! 


SONGS    OF   DEATH.  81 

With  hearts  congenial,  fill'd  with  quenchless  yearn 
ings 

For  purer  life,  (leaning  on  thy  loved  breast.) 
Yon  radiant  planet,  so  serenely  burning, 
Seem'd  to  our  raptur'd  gaze  a  place  of  rest ! 
And  now,  when  e'er  its  tranquil  light  I  see, 
Methinks  thy  loving  eyes  look  down  on  me. 
With  earnest,  watchful  gaze. 

If  love  is  deathless,  if  with  the  departed 
The  tie  exists  that  bound  us  here  on  earth. 
Why  call  upon  thee,  'reft  and  broken-hearted, 
And  wait  thy  coming,  when  the  stars  have  birth  .' 
Thou  can' st  not  come !  else  would  my  love  bear 

sway, 

And  win  thee  back,  tho'  distant  far  the  way. 
From  thy  serene  abode  ! 

Perchance  unseen,  thou  oft  wilt  hover  near  me. 
A  guardian  angel  in  mine  hour  of  need ! 
So  will  I  deem,  until  called  hence  to  meet  thee. 
From  this  clay  prison,  then  forever  freed, — 
I  shall  no  more,  with  pitying  anguish  trace. 
One  line  of  suffering  on  thy  lovely  face, 

Radiant  with  joy  and  peace. 

Oh,  dearest  sister,  thou  art  freed  from  sorrow. 
And  wasting  pain. — thy  weary  lot  for  years  ! 
From  this  sweet  thought  I  fain  would  comfort  bor 
row. 

G 


82  AMAIiAJS'TH    BLOOMS. 


Why  weep  for  thec,  4:  since  thou  hast  done   with 

tears !"' 

But  there  are  times,  when  griefs  o'erwhelming  pow'r 
Will  burst  its  barrier,  and  the  stormy  shower 
Of  tears  fall  thick  and  fast ! 

Now  in  the  East  the  light  of  morn  is  breaking  ! 
Come,  gentle  slce,p,  my  weary  eyelids  close. 
And  yield  in  dreams,  that  loved  face  ever  beaming. 
With  its  sweet  smile,  my  life's  last  summer  rose  ! 
But  ah,,  those  blessed  dreams  will  soon  depart, 
Leaving  no  trace  save  in  my  yearning  heart. — 
Like  music  fled  and  gone  ! 

Thus  days  pass  on,  with  frail  hand  broidering  flow 
ers, 

My  truant  thoughts  'mid  bygone  scenes  doth  stray. 
'Till  night  returns,  restoring  vanish' d  hours, 
With  gleams  of  faces,  pass'd  from  earth  away. 
So  come  ye  ever,  in  my  dreams,  sweet  friends. 
'Till  my  freed  spirit,  in  communion  blends, 
With  yours  foreveraiore ! 


FAITHFUL  he  stood  alone  : 
W  idle  from  his  side,  the  champions  of  the  cross 
Lured  from  their  post,  by  the  seductive  dross 
That  wordlings  prize, — or  by  the  voice  of  fame, 


COUNTRY    CLERGYMAN.  83 

That  echoes  for  an  hour,  some  lauded  name, 
Then  dies  away  in  silence.     He  the  while, 
With  steadfast  heart,  the  same  dull  round  of  toil 
Meekly  pursued  !     Learned,  yet  not  vain, 
In  mariners  gentle,  in  exterior  plain, 
In  kindness  unsurpassed.     His  Master's  name 
"Twas  his  delight  each  Sabbath  to  proclaim ; 
And  through  the  week,  his  pure  example  taught 
Still  more  effectively  the  truths  inwrought 
With  our  most  holy  faith.     The  humble  poor 
Too  oft  neglected,  as  he  crossed  their  door 
Blessed  him  with  grateful  hearts  !     The  faded  eye 
Of  the  poor  invalid,  grew  bright  with  joy 
At  his  approach.     E'en  the  dull  ear  of  death 
Caught  words  of  hope,  as  the  last  flitting  breath 
Passed  upward  unto  heaven  ! 

One  fragile  form, 

Pale  as  a  lilly,  bow'd  beneath  the  storm, 
Whene'er  was  heard  anesr  his  gentle  tread, 
Invoked  heaven's  hallow'd  blessings  on  his  head  ! 
Still  oft  he  mourn'd,  (when  bow'd  by  anxious  fears.) 
The  slender  harvest  of  his  prayers  and  tears, 
And  turned  aside  to  weep.     Thus  Jesus  wept 
Over  Jerusalem, — and  oftimes  kept 
Lone  weary  vigils,  on  Olivet's  brow, — 
On  the  cold  ground  his  sacred  head  did  bow. 
Pleading  for  guilty  man  ! 


84:  AMARANTH    BLOOMS. 

Then  murmur  not ! 

Though  thankless  toil  be  added  to  thy  lot, 
Of  sorrow  and  privation.     He  hath  said, 
That  we  his  servants,  should  be  like  our  Head  ! 
Through  suffering  and  reproach  to  bear  the  cross. 
And  count  all  earthly  things  but  worthless  dross : 
So  we  but  win  in  heaven  a  glorious  crown, — 
Compared  with  which  a  fleeting  world's  renown, 
Is  but  an  empty  dream.     When  heaven  and  eart 

shall  flee, 

A  joyful  band  will  rise  to  welcome  thee, 
Of  souls  redeemed  !  for  whom  thou  oft  hast  wept. 
And  agonized  in  prayer !     O,  then  what  joy, 
What  bliss  seraphic,  and  without  alloy, 
Shall  fill  thy  raptured  soul !     Meanwhile  below. 
Foretastes  of  bliss  award  thee,  like  the  glow 
Of  God's  eternal  smile  !     Celestial  gleams 
Of  heavenly  glory  !  bright  and  cheering  dreams 
Of  never  ending  joy,  shall  cheer  thy  breast, 
Until  admitted  to  thy  heavenly  rest ! 


Written  at  my  Sister's  Wedding,  and  presented  to 
her  Husband. 

THERE  were  two  flowers,  two  young  and   lovely 

flowers, 
That  grew  in  gentle  beauty,  side  by  side  ; 


AN   IMPROMPTU.  85 

New  charms  unfolded  thro'  their  youthful  hours, 

I  watoh'd  them  ever  with  a  sister's  pride. 
At  length  one  droop'd, — I  mourned  its  early  doom. 
The  flowers  of  Summer  deck  its  peaceful  tomb. 

My  yearning  heart  then  pour'd  its  all  of  love, 
Upon  that  living  flower,  'till  it  became, 

An  idol  worship  !  wearying  heaven  above, 

With  ceaseless  prayers,  to  shield  from  grief  and 
pain, 

Its  young  and  tender  breast  1     When  fully  blown, 

Another  pluck'd  the  flower  I  deem'd  my  own. 

And  thoti,  dear  M.,  hast  won  that  gentle  flower, 
Oh,  guard  it  ever  from  each  windy  storm, 

Regard  it  ever  as  a  priceless  dower ! 

Let  no  rude  blasts  assail  its  fragile  form, — 

Until  transplanted  to  its  heavenly  home, 

Where  chilling  wind,  nor  storm,  can  ever  cornel 


THE  stars  shone  down  from  their  homes  of  light 

With  soft  and  twinkling  ray. 
Thro'  the  deep  mid- watch  of  the  Summer  night. 

A  3  GUIDO  in  slumber  lay. 
When  he  dream'd  of  his  home,  'neath  the  clea? 
glad  light 

Of  a  soft  Italian  sky,— 


)  AMARANTH    BLOOMS. 

Where  a  winding  stream  with  wavelets  blight, 
Rolled  gently  murmuring  by. 

His  home  was  but  a  peasant's  cot, 

Where  his  mother  dwelt  alone  : — 
The  Myrtle  and  Forget-me-not, 

Bloom'd  'round  the  threshold  stone. 
Two  graceful  Olives  cast  their  shade, 

Around  the  vine-wreath'd  door, — 
Where  the  sun-beams  'mid  their  branches  playTd. 

And  shone  o'er  the  sanded  floor. 

The  clustering  grape  with  tendrils  green, 

Festoon' d  and  intertwined, 
To  the  open  latice  form'd  a  screen, 

To  exclude  the  sun  and  wind. 
There  his  mother  sat  in  the  old  arm  chair, 

With  her  Bible  on  her  knee, — 
The  fragrant  breath  of  the  summer  air 

Sway'd  soft  and  tremulously. 

The  glistening  leaves,  while  the  sunbeams  bright, 

Gleam'd  soft  o'er  the  sacred  page, 
And  illum'd  with  calm  and  holy  light, 

The  tranquil  brow  of  age. 

There  was  strength  in  the  glance  of  that  heaver* 
lit  eye, 

Deep  trust  and  earnest  truth  ! 
The  broad  calm  brow,  so  pure  and  high, 

Wore  the  bland  sweet  light  of  youth* 


8T 


Long  years  had  pass'd  since  Guido  dweh 

In  the  cottage  o'er  the  lea, — 
And  lisp'd  his  prayers  as  at  eve  he  knelt, 

At  his  angel  mother's  knee. 
He  had  left  his  home  to  toil  for  bread. 

And  to  win  an  honest  fame  : — 
With  his  mother's  blessing  on  his  head, 

As  a  shield  from  guilt  and  shame. 

The  dream  inspired  a  noble  thought, 

In  his  artist  soul  of  flame, — 
And  the  fires  of  genius  awoke  and  wrought 

Throughout  his  thrilling  frame  ! 
And  soon  in  soft  resplendant  light. 

His  mother's  noble  mien, 
Beam'd  from  the  canvas,  warm  and  bright. 

Mild,  truthful  and  serene, 

Was  the  kindling  glance  of  the  love-lit  eye  : — 

The  gleam  o'er  the  silvery  hair, 
Was  illum'd  with  the  glow  of  the  sunset  sky. 

Calm,  passionless,  and  fair. 
Shone  the  pure  high  brow  in  its  radiant  sheen, 

Unmark'd  by  guilt  or  care  : — 
For  the  angelic  mind  that  dwelt  within, 

Mirror'd  its  semblance  there. 

In  many  a  stately  marble  hall, 

Near  his  own  blue  winding  stream, 


AMARANTH    BLOOMS. 

That  sweet  face  beams  from  the  silent  wall, 

As  it  shone  in  Guido's  dream. 
And  still  'tis  shown  'mid  the  gems  of  art, 

'Mong  the  proud  archives  of  fame, — 
Where  the  filial  love  of  a  noble  heart, 

Enshrin'd  a  MOTHER'S  name  ! 


It)e  fitef  Shjbe  of  tye  Settled, 

ON    INDIAN    CREEK,    ILLINOIS. 

THEY  made  his  lonely  grave, 

By  the  dark  woodland's  side, — 

Where  the  leafy  trees  of  the  forest  wave, 

Where  the  towering  oak  the  tempest  braves, 

In  majesty  and  pride  I 

Few  were  the  lonely  band, 

That  stood  beside  his  bier  ! 

Not  a  farewell  word,  the  silence  broke  : 

And  the  last  sad  look  of  the  grave  they  took, 

In  sorrow  and  in  tears. 

But  there  was  one,  whose  grief 

Tho'  silent,  still  was  deep. 

Her  fragile  form  was  oft  seen  to  glide 

Near  that  lonely  grave,  by  the  woodland's  side, 

And  there  in  silence  weep, 


GRAVE   OF   THE    SETTLERS.  89 

He  sleeps  not  now  alone, 
By  the  dark  woodland's  side. 
Scarce  a  twelve-month  past,  ere  another  stone 
Was  placed  at  the  head  of  the  lovely  one, 
Who  slumbers  by  his  side. 
NORTH  NORWICH,  1839. 

NOTE. — An  only  brother  of  the  writer,  who  was  the  leader 
of  the  little  band  of  immigrants  from  Boston,  selected  the  lo 
cation  for  the  burial  ground  on  Indian  Creek,  where  they  inter 
red  in  a  few  months  after  their  arrival  one  of  their  number,  a 
young  gentleman  from  Boston,  who  died  of  Consumption,  indu 
ced  by  exposure  and  hereditary  bias. 


dilirliier)  ii] 


THOU  bid'st  me  gentle  lady. 

To  weave  for  thee  a  lay  : 
Alas,  the  sweet  romances, 

Of  my  life's  early  day, 
Have  flown  like  leaves  in  Autumn 

Before  the  wintery  bla>t. 
Those  bright  and  youthful  fancies. 

Were  all  too  sweet  to  last. 

But  the  Promethean  fire 
Still  glows  within  my  veins, 

Lighting  the  funeral  pyre 
Of  the  dross  that  still  remains. 


90  AMAKANTH    BLOOMS. 

And  still  on  airy  pinion, 

My  muse  at  times  doth  stray  ; 

Beyond  the  distant  mountain, 
Beyond  the  hills  away. 

:Till  dawns  the  glorious  vision, 

Of  the  bright,  the  better  clime, — 
With  the  famed  fields  Elysium, 

And  streams  whose  murmuring  chime. 
In  my  rapt  ear  are  ringing, 

As  they  swiftly  glide  along; 
And  I  hear  the  distant  hymning, 

Of  the  bright  angelic  throng. 

Thus  glows  the  sweet  ideal, 

Clear  and  intensely  bright, — 
"Till  the  present  seems  less  real, 

Than  that  world  of  living  light ! 
Oh,  wherefore,  gentle  lady, 

Dost  thou  pine  in  sorrow  here, 
That  thine  earthly  lot  is  lerie,* 

And  thy  pathway  dark  and  drear. 

Since  each  passing  day  but  hastens 

The  hour  of  sweet  release, 
When  thy  soul  in  secret  yearning, 

For  a  home  of  rest  and  peace, 
(Hath  fulfill'd  its  weary  mission,) 

'Mid  the  mansions  of  the  blest, 
*  This  word  is  taken  from  the  Scottish  dialect. 


LIGHTS    AND    SHADOWS.  91 

Will  find  a  sweet  fruition, 
Leaning  on  Jesus'  breast. 


THE  fierce  winds  met  in  battle, 
And  the  thunder  loud  did  rattle, 
And  the  wheel  groaned  on  its  axle, 

Toiling  o'er  the  rugged  way. 
Ah,  me !  the  earth  is  erie, 
Of  life  I  am  aweary, — 
Thus  sighed  I,  drooping,  dreary, 

At  the  closing  of  the  day. 

Soon  I  felt  my  senses  reeling, 
Felt  the  hand  of  Somnus  stealing, 
All  consciousness  and  feeling  ; 

While  the  plashing  of  the  rain, 
Caused  me  heavily  to  slumber, 
And  I  heard  no  more  the  thunder, — 
While  weird  visions  without  number, 

Came  thronging  thro'  my  brain  I 

Methought  that  I  was  chang'd, 

And  my  friends  were  all  estranged. — 

While  with  feeble  steps  1  ranged, 

O'er  a  broad  and  dusty  way  ! 
Then  with  thirst  I  seem'd  a  dying, 
When  I  heard  a  brooklet  sighing, 


92  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

Saw  a  silvery  brooklet  hieing, 
Like  a  gleam  of  light  away. 

With  feeble  steps  advancing, 
Near  its  limpid  waters  dancing, 
When  in  its  bosom  glancing, 

I  turned  with  fright  away  ! 
In  the  place  of  smiles  and  dimples, 
There  were  furrows  deep,  and  wrinkles, 
And  the  golden  hair  was  sprinkled, 

With  faded  white  and  grey. 

O'er  the  pale  dim  brow  beclouded, 
With  the  four-score  years  that  bowed  it, 
Sat  reason  dull  and  shrouded, 

Where  the  Holly  lately  bloomed. 
Then  in  truth  the  earth  seem'd  erie, 
And  of  life  I  was  aweary, — 
And  I  pined  so  lone  and  dreary, 

For  the  quiet  of  the  tomb  ! 

I  awoke  !  the  sun  was  beaming 
Thro'  my  lattice  brightly  streaming, 
O'er  my  books  and  flowers  gleaming, 

As  I  knelt  me  down  to  pray. 
A  meek  and  chasten'd  feeling, 
Came  o'er  me  with  its  healing, 
God's  perfect  love  revealing, 

As  I  went  my  household  way. 
NORWICH,  1849. 


little 

CAN  this  be  death  1     Wilt  thou  no  more  awaken  ? 

On  thy  closed  lids  the  seal  of  slumber  lies. 
Loved  one,  awake ! — the  lark  her  flight  hath  taken. 

Sweetly  she  sings,  aloft  in  yonder  skies. 

Thou  wilt  not  wake  !     Thy  spirit  hath  ascended 
Where  the  light  wing  of  the  sky  lark  cannot  soar  ! 

Unlike  the  lark,  when  her  ferial  flight  is  ended, 
Thou  wilt  return  to  thine  earthly  home  no  more  ! 

Ah,  this  is  death !     By  many  a  mournful  token, 
Nerveless  and  chill,  lies  thy  little  hand  in  mine  : 

Thy  loving  kiss,  and  thy  good  night  fondly  spoken. 
How  will  they  haunt  me,  in  the  coming  time  ! 

Never  again  o'er  thy  pillow  nightly  bending, 
Will  my  fond  gaze  thy  lovelit  glances  meet : 

Listening  the  hymn,  from  thy  ruby  lips  ascending, 
Ere   thine   eyes  closed,  in  childhood's  slumber 
sweet ! 

If  with  the  birds,  in  melody  departing, 

From  our  chill  clime,  on  light  and  tireless  wing. 
Thou  would'st  return,  when  flowers  and  buds  are 

starting, 

Then  with  what  joy  might  we  hail  the  coming 
spring  ! 


94  AMARANTH    BLOOMS. 

Why  live  to  see  thy  spiritual  beauty  fading. 
From  the  worn  brow,  like  sunlight  from  a  cloud  1 

Lov'd  one,  each  trace  of  thine  early  home  in  Aiden. 
Shines  still  more  clearly  in  thy  little  shroud.* 

Leave  us  not  lone,  but  on  starry  pinions  gleaming. 
Visit  our  couch,  when  sleep  our  eyelids  close ! 

Yield  us  in  dreams,  thy  sweer  face  ever  beaming. 
With  thy  loved  smile,  our  life's  last  summer  rose. 

*  It  is  supposed  by  some  persons  that  the  soul  or  living  prin 
ciple  exists  anterior  to  its  birth,  and  hence  they  assert  that  the 
soft  spiritual  halo  which  marks  the  brows  of  infants  in  sleep, 
is  a  sign  of  their  affinity  with  pure  and  sinless  spirits, 
and  that  this  light  is  never  wholly  obliterated  except  by  the 
domination  of  evil  passions. 


fj^j   Greetings. 


TO     A     FRIEND     OF    THE     OLDEN     TIME. 

COME  forth  unto  the  meadows, 

From  life's  dim  and  dusty  way,  — 
From  the  streets  and  crowded  places, 

On  this  smiling  first  of  May  ! 
Come  awake  the  old  romances, 

In  thy  bosom,  once  again.  — 
Those  bright  and  youthful  fancies, 

Sad  truants  long  have  been. 


MAY-DAY    GREETINGS. 


I  have  seen  thy  dark  eye  beaming. 

With  serene  and  holy  thought. — 
And  I  loved  thee  for  that  dreaming. 

For  the  gentle  mood  it  wrought. 
1  have  loved  thee  for  thine  honor. 

Bright  and  stainless  from  thy  youth. — 
For  thy  sparkling  wit  and  humor, 

For  thy  pure  unsullied  truth. 

For  each  noble  trait  I  loved  thee. 

In  the  palmy  days  of  yore  ; 
But  a  change  has  gathered  o'er  thee. 

Since  that  we  meet  no  more ! 
Pure  and  spiritual  thought  effacing. 

From  thy  noble  brow  the  while. 
On  thy  heart  stern  lessons  tracing. 

Of  earth's  treachery  and  guile  ! 

I  would  rather  thou  wert  sleeping. 

In  thy  low  and  narrow  bed, — 
Though  my  wrung  heart  broke  with  weeping, 

Scalding  tears  above  thy  head  ! 
Then  the  words  by  thee  once  spoken. 

Should  prove  false,  and  nothing  worth  ! 
Then  the  last  link  would  be  broken. 

That  binds  my  soul  to  earth  ! 

But  no !  I  cannot  doubt  thee. 

And  thy  memory  rem;-.'    - 
With  its  clear  light  shining  round  me. 

Undim'd  by  earthly  stains ! 


0  AMARANTH    BLOOMS. 

Then  away  unto  the  mountains, 
Thro'  the  glens  and  uplands  stray  : 

By  the  gleaming  rills  and  fountains, 
Where  the  sweet  May  breezes  play. 

Would'st  thou  heed  each  clear  voice  ringing. 

From  the  grove  and  forest  tree, — 
Mark  the  blades  of  grass  upspringing, 

And  the  flowers  upon  the  lea, — 
Would'st  thou  list  sweet  nature's  teaching. 

In  her  bright  and  changeful  mood, 
Thou  would'st  much  sweet  wisdom  gather. 

From  her  groves  and  solitudes  ! 
MAY  1,  1849. 


I  SAW  a  village  burial  train, 

Slow  moving  from  an  ancient  fane  : — 

A  little  boy  with  flaxen  hair, 

And  dimpled  cheek,  and  forehead  fair. 

Led  onward  by  the  pastor's  care, 

Sole  mourner  there  was  seen. 

They  paused  beside  a  new-made  grave. 
And  dust  to  dust  was  given. 
Poor  little  WILLIE'S  piercing  cry, 
Drew  pitying  tears  from  every  eye. — 


ORPHAN   WILLIE.  97 

They  strove  in  vain  his  tears  to  dry, 
His  heart  with  grief  was  riven. 

The  pastor  said,  with  accents  mild, 
"  Thou  seest  this  wither'd  herbage  child  : 
Sure  as  the  Spring  shall  come  again, 
And  clothe  with  tender  grass  the  plain, 
Thy  mother  will  arise  again. 
To  dwell  I  trust  in  heaven." 

Chance  led  once  more  my  wandering  teet, 
Within  that  churchyard's  lone  retreat. 
The  wintery  skies  had  pass'd  away, — 
I  heard  the  cheerful  robin's  lay, 
Caroling  from  the  leafy  spray, 
A  welcome  to  the  Spring. 

Musing  with  slow  and  silent  tread, 
Among  the  mansions  of  the  dead, 
I  paused  o'er  many  a  lowly  mound  ; 
At  length  the  widow's  grave  I  found, 
Scarce  raised  above  the  common  ground, 
Unmarked  by  cross  or  ^tone. 

I  found  beside  the  grave  a  child, 
"Twas  Willie,  who  looked  up  and  smiled. 
••  The  flower  shoots  have  sprung  up,"  said  ho. 
"  Soon  my  dear  mamma  I  shall  see, 

H 


98  AMAKANTH    BLOOMS. 

And  then  how  happy  we  shall  be, 
She  will  not  leave  me  more  !" 

"  Thy  mother  is  in  heaven,  I  trust, — 
Her  mortal  part  is  nought  but  dust ! 
Within  the  grave  it  will  remain  ; 
Thou'lt  watch  for  her,  my  child,  in  vain  : 
The  pastor  said  she  would  rise  again, 
At  the  rising  of  the  just !" 

His  little  heart  seem'd  broken  quite  ! 
He  wander'd  weeping  from  my  sight. 
From  that  time  forth  he  smiled  no  more 
His  dream  of  earthly  bliss  was  o'er. 
In  four  short  weeks  his  corse  they  bore. 
Within  the  churchyard  gate. 

His  tiny  feet  with  constant  tread, 
A  pathway  'round  that  narrow  bed, 
Had  worn  quite  through  the  verdant  sod, 
Where  now  he  lies  beneath  the  clod. 
His  spirit  hath  return'd  to  God  ! 
The  orphan's  grief  is  o'er. 
NORTH  NORWICH,  1839. 


0,1  the  SeiM  of  the  ^oeiegg  J.  £.  £., 

jrjfco   married  the  newly  appointed    Governor  to 
Africa,  and  died  soon  after  her  arrival. 

AND  art  thou  gone  thou  lovely  one  ! 

Thou  of  the  sweet-toned  lyre  I 
And  is  thy  harp  so  soon  unstrung, 

And  quench'd  the  radiant  fire, 
That  lurked  within  its  glowing  chords, 

And  sent  forth  many  a  tone 
Of  music,  and  of  melody, — 

A  music  all  thine  own. 

The  spirit  that  its  slumbers  broke, 

Hath  pass'd  away  from  earth! 
And  the  fair  hand,  its  chords  that  woke, 

With  chasten'd  tone  of  mirth, 
Is  cold  and  powerless  as  the  lyre, 

Which  its  light  fingers  strung ; 
Alas  !  those  sweet  soul  thrilling  wires, 

Were  all  too  tightly  wrung. 

Too  sensitive  thy  bosom's  thrill, 

Of  pleasure,  or  of  pain  ! 
Too  quickly  came  the  sense  of  ill, 

Across  thy  burning  brain ! 


100  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

And  though  thy  song,  at  times  was  light. 

As  the  lark's  matin  hymn, 
Yet  oft  thy  cheek  was  deadly  white, 

And  thy  bright  eye  was  dim  ! 

And  often  hast  thou  charm'd  the  throng. 

With  sparkling  wit  and  mirth, — 
Yet  when  the  crowd  was  gone,  hast  wept 

Thro'  weariness  of  earth  ! 
The  quenchless  yearnings  of  thy  soul, 

For  bliss  that  never  cloys, 
Would  oft  thy  gayer  moods  control, 

And  banish  all  thy  joys. 

'Tis  ever  thus,  with  gifts  like  thine  : 

The  light  that  others  cheers, 
Is  fed  with  life-drops  from  the  mine, 

And  water'd  with  its  tears. 
Too  dearly  purchased  is  the  gift, 

To  grant  the  bliss  we  crave, — 
A  fitful  and  a  weary  doom, 

A  low  and  early  grave, 

Is  oft,  alas,  the  poet's  meed  : 

Tho'  much  I  joy  to  think, 
That  thou  hast  shared  a  lofty  fame, 

With  many  a  bright  wreath  link VI. 
And  many  hearts,  arid  many  lands. 

Will  mourn  thine  earlv  doom, — 


DEATH   OF   L.   E.    L.  101 

And  many  an  offering  will  be  twined, 
To  consecrate  thy  tomb. 

Afric  reverberates  the  swell, 

Of  heartfelt  deep  lament : 
For  thy  last  sigh  famed  L.  E.  L., 

With  its  dull  air  was  blent ! 
And  dearly  will  they  rue  the  day, 

That  saw  thy  light  form  borne 
From  Albion's  towering  cliffs  away, 

And  never  to  return  ! 
NORTH  NORWICH,  1839. 


Jo 

ON      HER      LATE      BEREAVEMENT 

I  HEAR  thy  gentle  voice  my  friend, 
But  ah,  there's  sadness  in  its  tone ; 
Thy  drooping  head  with  sorrow  bends, 
Alas  !  why  is  it  thus  mine  own. 
Yet  wherefore  ask  !  yon  closed  room 
Wears  the  lone  stillness  of  the  tomb, 
And  maketh  mute  reply  ! 

And  was  there  then  no  warning  sent, 
To  thee  sweet  friend,  of  coming  doom  ? 
No  bird-like  note  with  wailing  blent, 
From  the  dim  chamber  of  the  tomb  ? 


102  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

Ah,  none  !  'till  mortal  paleness  spread 
O'er  the  lov'd  face,  and  the  high  head 
Was  borne  unto  the  grave  ! 

And  few  there  were,  who  knew  the  worth, 
Of  the  leal  spirit,  kind  yet  strong  :  — 
'Till  from  the  weary  "bonds  of  earth, 
He  pass'd  to  join  the  heavenly  throng  ! 
JTis  thus  with  all  our  pleasures  here,  — 
They  brighten  as  they  disappear, 
Forever  from  our  sight  ! 

But  thou,  of  all  who  mourn  for  him, 
Hast  sun-light  by  thy  presence  cast,  — 
Diffusing  light  where  all  was  dim, 
Bright'ning  the  memory  of  the  past  ! 
Thou  hast  thy  meed  !     No  weary  strife, 
Of  vain  regrets  in  future  life, 
Can  haunt  thy  peaceful  breast  f 


But  ah,  each  gentle  look  and 
The  all  of  love,  so  freely  pou-r'd  ! 
How  will  thy  heart  by  memory  stir'd, 
Brood  o'er  its  own  bright  secret  hoard*, 
Of  hours  in  sweet  communion  pass'd  ;• 
Their  dreamy  spell  is  o'er  thee  cast, 
Where'er  thy  footsteps  roam  t 

The  weary  world  hath  power  to  bind, 
The  struggling  heart  in  many  a  fold  ! 


TO    MRS.  .  I'1-"' 

Still  thro'  the  silent  lapse  of  time. 
The  forms  that  lie  beneath  the  mold. 
A  single  thought  can  bid  them  rise, 
Before  us,  with  their  calm  bright  eyes. 
Piercing  the  inmost  soul ! 

But  thou,  my  friend, — thou  need'st  not  shrink 
From  the  calm  glance  of  that  mild  eye : 
Henceforth  'twill  be  thy  joy  to  think, 
While  training  for  their  native  sky, 
Those  orphan'd  ones,  so  fondly  loved, — 
Their  Sire  from  some  bright  star  above, 
Smiles  sweet  approval  down  ! 


WHENCE  is  this  change  ?     I  feel  an  icy  shiver 
Creep  thro'  my  veins,  as  the  light  breezes  swept  by 
I  hear  the  rushing  of  a  mighty  river, 
Whose  rolling  waves  seem  speeding  still  more  nigh 
In  yonder  church-yard,  like  a  spectral  band. 
The  aged  firs,  and  nodding  laurels  stand, 
Beckoning  my  soul  away  ! 

Ah.  now  they  toss  their  arms,  and  wildly  beckon. 
With  nodding  heads  they  daily  call  to  me  : — 
I  will  not  heed  them,  tho'  they  call  and  beckon, 
I  will  shake  off  this  thraldom,  and  be  free  ! 


104  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

It  was  not  thus,  when  o'er  yon  mountain's  height. 
With  volant  step  I  roam'd  from  morn  'till  night, 
Earth's  secrets  to  explore  ! 

There  I  have  heard  unnumber'd  voices  preaching, 
Of  living  harmonies,  that  'round  us  roll : — 
And  felt  within  sweet  nature's  gentle  teaching, 
In  silent  whispers,  to  the  list'ning  soul ; — 
While  brooks,  and  birds,  and  flowers,  and  whisp'ring 

trees, 

In  choral  symphonies  upon  the  breeze, 
Harmonious  music  made. 

Talk  not  of  death  !     The  future  lies  before  me, 

1  cannot  die  !     My  work  is  scarce  begun  ! 

And  yet  at  times  strange  numbness  creepeth  o'er  me. 

Oh,  grant  me  life,  thou  high  and  holy  One  ! 

Strength  to  unfold  the  glorious  thoughts  that  glow 

Within  my  breast,  in  one  euphonious  flow, 

Of  sweetly  melting  strains. 

To  die  in  youth,  while  thro'  mine  inmost  being 
I  feel  immortal  powers  within  me  throng, — 
When  spirit- voices  in  my  ear  are  ringing, 
Melodious  strains,  and  snatches  of  sweet  song  : — 
And  life  itself  so  clear  before  me  lies, 
With  its  stern  duties,  and  its  vast  emprise, 
Of  noble  deeds  undone  ! 

Yet  peace  at  last  is  nigh  !     Each  tie  is  riven, 
A  brighter  home  is  mine,  beyond  the  stars ! 


INEZ   AND   IMELDA.  105 

This  claey  cell  no  longer  will  imprison 
My  struggling  soul,  within  its  bolts  and  bars ! 
Farewell,  lov'd  earth, — on  angel- wing  I  soar, 
To  distant  worlds,  new  mysteries  to  explore, 
While  endless  cycles  run. 


OR      THE      MISSION      OF      SORROW. 

HOLY  hath  been  thy  mission  gentle  friend  : 
Thou  wanderest  to  and  fro  throughout  the  earth, 
Causing  sad  hearts  in  union  sweet  to  blend, 
And  chasteneth  those  o'er  fond  of  pomp  and  mirth. 
By  thy  blest  influence  heaven  oftimes  doth  send 
Angels,  to  minister  at  our  board  and  hearth  : 
In  many  a  humble  cot  their  homes  are  found, 
Where  soft  Spring  airs,  and  dews  of  peace  abound! 

When  bow'd  with  grief,  their  generous  hearts  exhale 
Incense  more  rare  than  costly  odor  sweet. 
Thus  the  meek  violet  breathes  upon  the  gale. 
Its  perfumed  breath,  when  crush'd  beneath  the  feet. 
We  wound  the  fertile  earth,  which  ne'er  doth  fail 
Te  yield  its  fruits,  the  laborers  eye  to  greet. 
E'en  so,  heaven  furrows  the  meek  human  breast, 
And  flowers  spring  forth  obedient  to  his  'quest. 

We  know  them  by  their  calm,  sad,  earnest  eyes, 
W  hose  earnest  glance  is  fixed  on  heaven  alone. 


106  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

By  noble  deeds,  that  brighten  for  the  skies, — 
Deeds  but  for  them  the  world  had  never  known  ! 
Where'er  they  tread,  lost  hues  of  paradise 
Gleam  'round  their  paths,  we  deem'd  forever  flown. 
Earth's  angels  are  they,  walking  undismayed, 
Amid  the  furnace  ! — faint,  but  not  afraid. 

Meek  hearted  ones,  unknown  amid  the  glare. 

The  pomp  and  pageantry  of  worldly  pride, — 

One  I  remember  now,  with  soft  brown  hair, 

From  her  pale  marble  temples  put  aside, — 

A  child  of  penury,  yet  passing  fair, 

Whose  homely  garb  her  beauty  could  not  hide. 

Her  broad   calm  brow,    so   reverent,  meek  and 

pure, 
Told  of  deep  strength  to  suffer  and  endure  ! 

O'er  her  veil'd  eyes  the  silken  lashes  lay, 

Oftimes  in  weariness,  and  oft  to  hide, 

The  gathering  tears,  that  sometimes  would  have 

sway, 

When  gazing  at  the  sufferer  by  her  side: — 
An  orphan  sister,  who  from  childhood's  play, 
Adown  the  cliff  was  borne  at  eventide, — 
A  helpless  burden,  on  her  loving  breast, 
Her  tiny  feet  no  more  the  greensward  press'd. 

Years  pass'd  away,  with  calm  and  even  flow, 
Jn  their  rude  cottage  on  the  sandy  moor. 


INEZ    AND    DIELDA.  107 

The  yellow  sunbeams  shone  with  mellow  glow, 
On  INEZ'S  couch,  from  the  low  vine-wreath'd  door ; 
Where  oft  she  watch' d  the  slant  rays  fading  slow, 
Along  the  walls,  and  o'er  the  sanded  floor. 
Shut  from  the  world,  its  beauty  and  its  bloom, 
She  sigh'd  for  rest,  and  found  it  'yond  the  tomb ! 

One  sorrow  more  the  young  IMELDA  knew, 

And  her  crush'd  heart,  like  a  frail  reed  was  broken : 

One,  she  believed,  was  loving,  kind  and  true. 

Deem'd  their  long  plighted  vows  were  rashly  spok'n, 

No  earthly  love  could  light  its  fires  anew, 

In  her  sad  breast  J     Heaven  sent  to  her  a  token 

Of  perfect  peace, — and  the  clear  loving  light 

Of  her  sweet  eyes,  closed  in  death's  dreamless  night  I 

The  humble  cotters,  as  they  smooth'd  her  bed, 
With  rev'rence  spake  of  her  who  lay  beneath ! 
How  tenderly  she  rais'd  the  young  bright  head. 
Of  her  whose  suppliant  glance  invoked  relief. 
How  cheerfully  she  toil'd  to  earn  their  bread. 
How  lovingly  she  sooth'd  her  every  grief: — 
And  still  the  tale  is  told  among  the  poor, 
Of  the  lone  dwellers  of  the  sandy  moor  ! 


TO      MRS.      EMILY     C.      JUDSON. 

BLOW  ye  favoring  gales,  and  bear  along 

To  her  native  shore  our  bird  of  song  ! 

We  have  miss'd  the  flow  of  thy  gentle  strains, 

'Mid  thine  own  green  hills  and  flowery  plains  ; — 

Like  the  silvery  chime  of  the  sounding  rills, 

That  murmur  unseen  'mid  the  quiet  hills, 

Bearing  freshness  and  bloom  to  the  flowers  along — 

Thus  thy  tuneful  lyre  charm'd  the  list'ning  throng. 

With  joy  we  reclasp  the  sever'd  chain, 

And  welcome  the  wanderer  home  again  ! 

Thy  home  laughs  out,  'mid  its  summer  bloom, 
Yet  something  of  silence,  a  shade  of  gloom, 
Seems  to   rest  on  the  spot   where  thy   footsteps 

stray'd, 

'Neath  the  trailing  vines  of  the  Ivy's  shade. 
Perchance  'tis  the  thought  of  the  grief  that  lies 
In  the  quiet  depth  of  thy  gentle  eyes  : — 
And  the  mournful  change  that  has  o'er  thee  pass'd, 
Since  beneath  its  shade  thou  did'st  wander  last. 
Then,  visions  of  joy  before  thee  waved! 
Now,  thy  heart  yearns  oft  for  the  silent  grave. 

When  fame's  soothing  whispers  rang  in  thine  ear, 
And  the  path  of  the  future  lay  smiling  and  clear, 


THE    WELCOME.  109 

Thou  did'st  turn  from  the  'wildering  charm  of  song, 
From  those  airy  dreams  that  its  pathway  throng : 
In  that  Orient  clime  far  beyond  the  seas, 
Where  the  Cocoa  wafts  its  tall  arms  in  the  breeze, 
To  aid  him  who  toil'd  weary  years  to  illume, 
The  nations  enshrouded  in  darkness  and  gloom. 
Thou  did'st  brighten  his  pathway  so  lonely  and  drear, 
When  the  bloom  of  life's  verdure  lay  with'd  and  sere. 

Though  the  freshness  and  bloom  of  thy  life  depart, 
Yet  the  glow  of  his  smile  will  illumine  thine  heart : 
He  called  thee  his  angel  in  moments  of  joy  ;* 

*  The  present  Mrs.  Judson  remarked  to  a  friend  on  the  pe 
culiar  gentle  and  winning  manner  that  characterized  her  hus 
band's  mode  of  addressing  her,  adding,  that  he  often  calls  her 
pet  names,  such  as  "  Angel,"  "Bird,"  &,c  Her  predecessor? 
also  gratefully  acknowledge  this  beautiful  home  trait  of  his 
character.  It  appears  that  selfishness  and  exaction,  which 
transforms  many  a  wise  and  gifted  man  into  the  domestic  ty 
rant,  found  no  place  in  his  heart  and  life.  "  His  life  spans  the 
history  of  Foreign  Missions  from  America !  With  an  iron 
constitution,  with  indomitable  strength  of  purpose,  with  apos 
tolic  energy,  of  faith  and  love,  with  devotedness  as  entire  as 
ever  marked  a  servant  of  Christ, — he  has  given  youth,  man 
hood,  and  a  vigorous  old  age  to  the  ministry  among  the  hea 
then.  His  labors  have  been  as  abundant,  hardships  as  severe, 
sufferings  as  intense,  as  have  fallen  to  the  lot  of  a  Christian  sol 
dier,  since  the  martyrdom  of  St.  Paul.  And  now  he  has  died 
with  his  harness  on,  and  left  a  name  which  must  be  a  watch 
word  among  the  successive  ranks  of  the  '  sacramental  host/ 
till  they  have  won  their  last  victory,  and  the  kingdoms  of  this 
world  have  become  the  kingdoms  of  our  Lord  and  his  Christ." 


110  AMAKANTII   BLOOMS. 

And  thine  was  the  bliss  without  alloy. 

When  pillow'd  soft  in  its  "  Indian  nest." 

Thy  young  "  bird"  smiled  on  its  mother's  breast. 

Then  life  sped  on  with  a  quiet  flow, 

'Till  Muriel's  spear  laid  thine  idol  low  ! 

The  lance  was  enwreath'd  with  Amaranth  flowers, 

And  Paradise  dawn'd  on  his  parting  hours  ! 

The  glory  of  Summer  to  thee  is  dim  ! 
While  he  tunes  his  glad  lyre  to  the  cherubim's  hymn. 
Thou  wilt  bear  in  our  festive  scenes  no  part, 
While  memory  broods  in  thy  yearning  heart, 
O'er  his  "  sea-girt  home,"  'mid  the  coral  caves ; 
And  oft  where  the  Lotus  blossom  waves, 
Where  thine  "  angel  Charlie"  asleep  doth  lie, 
'Neath  the  summer  haze  of  an  Indian  sky  : 
Where  the  shadowy  Peepul  bendeth  its  head, 
Like  a  mourner  that  weeps  o'er  the  early  dead. 

Thy  name  is  cherish'd  in  many  a  home, 

In  the  peasants  cot,  and  the  lordly  dome  : 

Link'd  with  mem'rys  that  throng  'round  the  sainted 

dead, 
Who  have  hallow'd  the  path  where  thy  footsteps 

tread ! 

One  slumbereth  'lone  on  the  rock  of  the  sea  ! 
And  one  lieth  low,  neath  the  Ilopia  tree  ! 
The  deep  rolling  ocean  holds  one  in  trust, 
Whose  name  is  enrolled  on  the  scroll  of  the  just ! 


THE    EXILE.  Ill 

Tho'  distant  and  lone  their  graves  lie  apart. 
Yet  death  cannot  sever  the  kindred  in  heart ! 

"Mid  the  Burrnan  jungle,  so  dark  of  yore, 
They  have  scatter' d  the  seeds  of  the  heavenly  lore. 
Its  sweet  buds  of  promise  will  yet  unclose. 
'Till  the  wilderness  blossom  like  Sharon's  rose  ! 
And  thy  poet  heart  will  with  rapture  thrill. 
When  thou  hearest  afar  from  the  heavenly  hill. 
The  jubilant  strains  of  a  rarisoni'd  throng, 
Redeem'd  from  the  bondage  of  sin  and  wrong : — 
Where  the  gospel  its  pearly  radiance  shed. 
Around  JUDSON  who  lies  in  his  ocean  bed. 
AUGUST.  1851. 


THE  sun  had  sank  behind  the  hill, 

The  §ky  with  clouds  was  overcast: 
The  wintery  wind  blew  cold  and  chill ; 

A  stranger  shivering  in  the  blast, 
I  welcomed  to  my  cheerful  hearth, 

And  spread  the  plenteous  board  with  care 
His  sparkling  wit  and  genial  mirth, 

His  noble,  frank,  and  courtly  air. 

Entranced  us.  while  the  hours  flew  by. 
Like  moments  in  life's  circling  chain. 


112  AMAKANTII   BLOOMS. 

Yet  oft  I  marked  the  deep  drawn  sigh, 
Like  one  who  strives  with  grief  or  pain  ! 

I  knew  by  his  soft  dulcet  speech, 
His  jetty  curls  of  purple  hue, 

The  clear  pale  olive  of  his  check, 

Which  the  bright  crimson  blood  shone  thr 

That  he  was  from  that  flowery  clime, 

Ruled  by  oppressions  iron  sway  ; 
Whose  sons  in  hopeless  bondage  pine, 

While  some  in  weary  exile  stray  ! 
Moved  by  my  pitying  glance,  he  told 

The  hapless  story  of  his  woe  : 
How  with  Mazzini's  band  enroll'd, 

He  fled  at  Rome's  sad  overthrow. 

•  '  .(»•;'.*•'»'#'"••'* 

The  winding  streamlet  quenched  his  thirst. 

The  strawberry  globes  of  golden  red, 
The  craving  pangs  of  hunger  nurst, — 

The  mountain  heather  was  his  bed. 
He  wander' d  thro'  the  forest  dark, 

That  skirts  the  Atlantic  billows  hoar ; 
With  joy  he  hailed  a  homeward  bark, 

Which  bore  him  to  our  peaceful  shore. 

The  wintry  sky  that  o'er  him  beams, 
The  chilling  winds,  the  drifting  snow, 

Recall  to  mind  his  own  blue  streams, 
And  skies  that  wear  a  vernal  glow. 


THE    EXILE.  113 

The  vintage  song  is  in  his  ear  : 

Down  by  the  Arno's  silvery  tide 
His  mother's  voice  he  seems  to  hear. 

In  prayer  for  him  at  eventide  ! 

And  ere  the  twilight  shadows  flee, 

AY  here  oft  they  met  in  life's  young  morn, 
Fair  lovely  Florence  o'er  the  lea, 

Awaits  him  at  the  trysting  thorn. 
And  when  the  stars  of  evening  pale, 

She  winds  her  homeward  way  alone, — 
While  oft  the  lovelorn  Nightingale, 

Responds  unto  her  plaintive  moan. 

In  vain  for  her  that  lovely  clime, 

Its  soft  and  vermeil  blooms  unclose. 
Heedless  she  treads  the  flowery  thyme, 

Xor  stoops  to  pull  the  wilding  rose! 
Since  grief  her  every  thought  enthralls 

The  flowers  that  deck  the  winding  stream. 
The  memory  of  past  joy  recalls, 

Which  vanish'd  like  a  fleeting  dream. 

O,  lovely  land  !     O,  fruitful  vales, 

Where  the  Myrtle  and  the  Citron  bloom  ! 

How  sweetly  wind  thy  sloping  dales, 
Yet  hangs  o'er  all  a  shade  of  gloom, 

Since  anarchy,  distrust  and  crime, 
Stalk  boldly  o'er  thy  fair  domain ! 


114  AM AK ANTE   BLOOMS. 

Old  age  and  manhood's  youthful  prime, 
In  hopeless  servitude  remain  t 

O,  Italy  !  thou  Inn  of  grief ! 

Without  a  shelter,  wreck'd,  forlorn  ! — 
Where  can'st  thou  turn  to  find  relief? 

'Reft  of  a  pilot  in  rude  storm ! 
Yet  from  the  ashes  of  the  past, 

The  germ  of  liberty  will  spring  : — 
And  dove-eyed  peace  will  reign  at  last, 

And  o'er  thee  brood  with  silvery  wing. 


How  bright  is  the  first  glad  smile  of  Spring  I 
Like  a  gleam  of  light  from  a  seraphs  wing  ; 
It  sheds  o'er  the  earth  its  genial  ray, 
And  the  snow-wreath  melts  from  the  hills  away  I 
Her  sunny  smile  sends  the  warm  breeze  forth ! 
And  the  frost  king  hies  to  the  distant  north. 
The  green  grass  springs  o'er  the  arid  plain, 
At  the  cheering  sound  of  the  dimpled  rain, 

Her  balmy  breath  is  upon  the  gale, 

And  flowers  are  springing  in  wood  and  vale  ; 

The  fir  tree  hath  don'd  a  brighter  green, 

Where  the  swelling  buds  in  the  groves  are  seen. 

Again  the  streamlet  wanders  free, 

In  its  winding  path  to  the  distant  -sea! 


SPRING.  115 

A  summer  glow  illumes  the  sky, 

As  days'  bright  oriflamme  wanes  on  high. 

I  know  that  the  pale  blue  Violet, 
By  the  pearly  dews  of  April  wet, 
Hath  ope'd  ere  this  its  starry  eyes, 
Along  the  banks  where  the  streamlet  hies  ! 
And  the  water  cress  and  mosses  green, 
'Mid  the  dashing  spray  are  dimly  seen. 
In  shelter' d  nooks  blooms  the  purple  bell, 
Where  the  yellow  buds  of  the  cowslip  swell. 

The  Robin  sings  on  the  household  tree, 
Where  her  downy  nest  was  wont  to  be. 
She  reard  it  there  in  the  last  Spring-time, 
And  in  Autumn  fled  to  a  southern  clime. 
But  the  nest,  like  many  a  cherish'd  thing. 
Is  missing  at  the  return  of  Spring. 
Alas  for  the  heart  whose  only  trust, 
Is  center'd  on  things  that  turn  to  dust ! 

But  the  Robin  will  build  on  the  same  old  tree. 

And  sing,  while  the  mists  of  the  morning  flee! 

No  mournful  memory  of  the  heart, 

No  vanish'd  joys  into  life  will  start, 

To  quench  that  rich  and  gushing  strain. 

That  sweetly  echoes  o'er  the  plain. 

*Tis  ours,  alas,  to  number  o'er, 

Life's  vanish'd  joys,  that  return  no  more  t 


116  AMAEANTH   BLOOMS. 

I've  listen'd  thy  joyous  lay  thou  bird, 

'Till  the  inmost  depths  of  my  heart  were  stir  d:  ? 

Though  we  may  not  like  thee,  cast  away 

The  haunting  griefs  that  cloud  our  way  : — 

There's  ne'er  a  heart  so  filled  with  care, 

But  flowers  and  fruit  may  blossom  there  ; 

If  we  cherish  the  joys  that  are  ours  to-day, 

And  mourn  not  o'er  griefs  that  fiave  pass'd  away  I 


flotoei11  filri. 

THE  Whippor-Will  sang  in  the  green  leafy  valley, 
The  Nightingale  trill'd  her  sweet  song  in  the 
grove,— 

While  weary  and  worn,  thro'  the  dim  crowded  alley. 
I  wander'd  afar  from  the  friends  that  I  love  ! 

'Mid  the  vain  laughing  crowd  I  strove  to  forget, 

The  "  fairest  of  maidens,"  the  young  Migonett ! 

One  evening  in  June,  in  the  Champs  d'Elysees, 
I  reclin'd  by  a  fountain,  beneath  the  cool  shade  : 

Carv'd  in  fine  bas-relief,  knelt  the  fabled  Ulysses, 
At  the  feet  of  Calypso,  fair  Circean  maid, — 

With  her  neat  little  cap  so  jauntily  set, 

I  espied  at  my  elbow  a  lovely  Grisette. 

With  a  basket  of  flowers,  on  her  arm  lightly  swing- 

ing, 
A  Rose  in  my  button-hole  softly  she  bound. 


PARISIAN    FLOWER    GIRL.  117 

Her  "  Aferci  bien  Monsieur"*  in  my  ear  sweetly 

ringing, 
Well  repaid  the  small  coin  which  her  courtesy 

crown'd. 

I  have  roam'd  many  lands,  yet  I  never  have  met. 
So  charaiing  a  maiden  as  fair  MIGOXETT  ! 

While  the  bells  chimed  in  concert  the  soft  vesper 

hour, 
By  the  clear  sparkling  fount,  where  the  tall  lilacs 

grew, 

I  wander' d  each  eve,  and  received  as  mv  dower, 
A  sweet  Florence  rose  gem'd  with  drops  of  bright 

dew ! 

But  few  words  were  spoken,  yet  I  ne'er  shall  forget, 
The  sweet  silvery  tones  of  the  lovely  Grisette ! 

How   winsome  she  looked  with  her  dark  ringlets 

flowing ; 

Her  heart  was  a  stranger  to  falsehood  and  guile. 
O'er   her  fair  dimpled  cheek,  the   rose  of  health 

glowing, 
Grew  bright  with   the  charm  of  her  wildering 

smile ! 

Some  called  her  an  angel,  some  vowed  to  forget 
A  maiden  so  coy  as  the  sweet  Migonett. 

Tho'  numerous  her  clients  for  dew-blooming  flow'rs. 
Yet  never  a  trace  could  they  find  of  her  home. 

*J  thank  7011,  SSr, 


118  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

Tho'  the   bright  silver  francs  fell  around  her   in 

showers, 
Her  "  Merci  bien  Monsieur  s"  she  smiled,  and  was 

gone. 

Yet  so  lustrous  the  orbs  of  the  dark-eyed  brunette, 
That  they  ne'er  could  forget  the  lovely  Grisette. 

One   evening   she  came  not !     Perchance  on  the 

morrow, — 

So  whisper'd  sweet  hope,  thou  wilt  meet  her  again ! 
Some  listen'd  with  joy,  and  some  heard  with  sorrow, 
That  Hymen  had  bound  her,  in  love's  rosy  chain  I 
'Mid   the   dark  shining  braids  gleam' d   a  bright 

coronet, 
That  bound  the  fair  brows  of  the  sweet  Migonett.* 

NOTE. — Tliis  little  incident  is  said  to  have  taken  place  in 
Paris  a  few  months  ago.  A  very  beautiful  young  flower  girl* 
or  Grisette,  as  those  females  are  called  who  belong  to  the  low 
er  class,  was  privately  married  to  a  young  Nobleman  of  gjeat 
wealth,  who  loved  her  not  only  for  her  rare  beauty,  but  her 
intelligence  and  virtue. 


Pile 

Inscribed  to  his  father,  Bp  H.  Dox,  of  LocJcport. 

Is*  the  lone  grave,  beneath  the  green  sward  sleeping, 
We  left  thee  lone,  our  darling  little  son ! 

Thy  mother's  heart  was  faint  and  sore  with  weeping, 
Thou  wast  our  dearest,  and  our  loveliest  one ! — 


LITTLE   HENRY.        -  110 

There,  the  blue  hare  bells,  and  the  violet  blossom. 

Opened  their  meek  eyes,  to  the  dawn  of  day  : 
And  the  green  myrtle,  clustered  o'er  thy  bosom. 

Thou  wast  as  lovely,  and  as  pure  as  they. 

Where  the  pale  primrose  blossom'd  by  the  fountain. 

Thy  little  foot  has  pressed  the  dewy  sod, 
While  the  soft  sunlight  lingered  o'er  the  mountain, 

Lifting  with  reverent  thought  thy  heart  to  God ! 
In  the  green  meadow,  where  the  vernal  showers. 

Sprinkled  the  tender  grass  beneath  thy  feet, 
Thy  tiny  hand  hath  pluck'd  the  budding  flowers, 

And  hastened  with  delight,  my  steps  to  greet, 

On  the  soft  gr^een  sward,  where  the  daisy  springcth. 

And  the  pale  mullen  lifts  its  spiral  rod ; 
Chasing  the  butterfly,  that  sportive  wingeth 

Its  serial  flight,  thy  volant  foot  hath  trod. 
To  our  fond  eyes,  there  seem'd  such  winning  sweet 
ness, 

In  all  thy  little  ways,  we  never  tired ; 
Watching  thy  fawnlike  tread,  and  airy  fleetness. 

Quenched  are  the  hopes  our  love  for  thee  inspired : 

Like  a  young  eaglet,  was  thy  spirit  daring, 

Yet  swayed  by  kindly  tones,  and  words  of  love. 

A  gentle  child,  of  five  short  summers,  wearing 
Upon  thy  brow,  the  meekness  of  the  dove ! 

Thy  clear  deep  eyes,  whose  heavenly  azure  mingl'd. 
The  porphory's  lustre,  in  their  liquid  light ; 


120  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

Where  childhoods  sportive  glances  intermingled, 
With  starry  gleams,  from  worlds   beyond   the 
sight ; 

Scem'd  filled  at  times,  with  pensive  holy  dreaming. 

As  if  some  dweller  from  the  spirit  shore, 
Infused  into  thine  ear,  words  of  deep  meaning ; 

And  tender  was  the  light,  thy  forehead  wore ! 
In  dreams  I  see  thee,  with  thy  white  wings  shining, 

Soft,  like  the  plumage  of  God's  holy  dove  ; 
I  feel  the  invisible  links,  around  me  twining, 

Drawing  my  spirit  hence — to  thee  above ! 

The  Amaranth's  snowy  blossoms,  stormwoven, 

Shed  their  soft  lustre,  o'er  thy  forehead  fair ! 
By  seraph  hands  the  fadeless  wreath  was  woven, 

And  twined  amid  thy  sunny  locks  of  hair. 
Clasped  in  their  snowy  arms,  the  angels  bore  thee, 

From  our  embrace,  who  loved  thee  next  to  God  ; 
Their  tender  care,  is  shed  forever  o'er  thee, 

Transcending  ours,  frail  dwellers  of  the  clod. 

Yet  from  thy  spirit  home,  in  yonder  Aiden, 

A  starry  pathway,  limns  the  upper  air ! 
And  when  oppressed  with  grief,  as  sorrow-laden, 

I  gaze  above,  thy  look  is  imaged  there ! 
Thy  little  Sisters,  speak  at  times  of  Henry, 

In  pensive  tones,  and  accents  sad  and  low  : — 
Their  little  playmate  lingers  in  their  mem'ry ; 

With  his  soft  ringlets,  clustering  o'er  his  brow ! 


TO    MRS.    G.    L.  121 

But  thy  pale  mother,  in  her  quiet  sadness, 

Checks  the  vain  tears  that  oft  in  secret  flow — 
Never  again  the  beaming  smile  of  gladness 

O'er  her  wan  cheek  will  shed  its  summer  glow ! 
Time  may  erase  the  impress  of  thy  beauty, 

From  younger  hearts,  but  we  can  ne'er  forget ; 
While  strug'ling  onward  'mid  life's  toilsome  duty, 

Our  life's  young  morning  star  whose  light  hath 
set! 


Jo  W9.  6-  J. 

PRINCIPAL    OF    THE    LADIES    SEMINARY    AT    ALBANY. 

I  THINK  of  thee  oft,  on  my  pillow  reclining, 

My  thoughts  like  the  light  winged  Zephyr  doth 

roam, 
O'er  mountain  and  vale,  where  the  moonbeams  are 

shining, 

That  bathes  in  soft  light,  thine  own  happy  home. 
I  have  glanced  o'er  the  page,  where  the  love  light- 
still  lingers, 
Warm  and  pure,  from  the  fountain,  that  wells  in 

thy  breast, 

Each  line  fondly  traced  by  thy  delicate  fingers ;  . 
My  own  trembling  hand,  with  loves  ardor  hath 
press'd. 


122  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

I  think  of  thee  oft,  when  at  vesper-time  kneeling, 
My  thoughts  on  the  wings  of  devotion  ascends, 
And  I  feel  in  my  heart,  the  blissful  revealing : 
That  my  low  voiceless  prayer  with  thine  orison 

blends — 

And  my  soul  gathers  strength  from  the  blessed  as 
surance, 

That  thou  in  that  hour,  for  the  absent  dost  pray. 
Thus  nerved  with  fresh  powers,  of  patient  endur 
ance, 
I  tread  the  rough  paths  of  life's  perilous  way. 

Like  mountain  streams  destined  but  rarely  to  mingle. 
Though  widely  diverging,  our  paths  yet  shall  be 
United  at  last,  like  those  streams  that  commingle 

Their  waters  in  one,  as  they  enter  the  sea ! 
The  stream  of  my  life  with  swift  current  is  speeding, 
Toward  that  vast  boundless  ocean,  that  lies  just 

before — 
There  are  way-marks  and  signs,  I  may  not  pass 

unheeding, 
"hat  tells  me,  life's  pilgrimage  soon  will  be  o'er ! 

But  thou,  like  yon  planet,  serenely  ascending, 

The  clear  cloudless  vault  of  the  limitless  sky ; 
In  true  elevation  of  spirit  art  tending, 

To  the  home  of  the  blest,  'mid  the  mansions  on 

•       high ! 
Like  yon  evening  star  that  in  radiant  splendor, 

Outvie's  its  compeers,  that  illumine  the  night, 


TO    MRS.    G.    L.  123 

May  thy  bright  scintilations  of  virtues  thus  render. 
Thy  pathway  resplendant,  with  beauty  and  light. 

I  cannot  misdoubt,  thy  lasting  affection, 

But  I  marvel  that  thou,  in  the  1  e'ght  of  thy  fame. 

Should  still  treasure  the  hour,  with  fond  recollection 

That  inscribed  on  the  tablet  of  memory,  my  name. 

How  many  sad  hearts  have  been  cheered  by  thy 

presence, 
By  thy  kind  gentle  words,  and  thy  soil  winning 

smile — 
The  rude  cot  of  the  poor,  and  the  bright   halls  of 

pleasaunce, 

Seemed  illumined  by  a  glow  of  soft  sunshine  the 
while. 

No  wearisome  thrall  hath  thy  spirit  o'er  clouded : 

To  sadden  the  strains,  of  thy  soul  thrilling  lyre — 
Like  the  slow  wearing  pain,  that  my  life  lamp  hath 
shrouded, 

And  quenched  in  my  breast,  the  promethean  fire ! 
From  my  lone  quiet  home,  in  the  heart  of  the  valley, 

I  shall   list  with  delight,  to   thy  sweet  flowing 

song— 
Tho'  never  again,  my  lute  chords  may  rally, 

Till  I  pass  to  rejoin  the  invisible  throng. 
AUGUST,  1850. 


Jo  qr)  0nl(j 

WHILE  the  silent  shades  of  evening, 

Folds  her  curtain  round  the  sky, 
And  the  pale  moon  softly  beaming, 

Hangs  her  silver  lamp  on  high  : 
'Tis  the  hour  I  love  to  wander, 

'Neath  pale  Lunas  pensive  ray ; 
And  on  bygone  moments  ponder, 

Musing  whiles  on  those  away — 
Those  whose  love  hath  ne'er  grown  weary, 

Those  whose  kindness  knows  no  change — 
While  some  have  made  life's  paths  more  dreary ; 

With  chilling  looks,  and  hearts  estranged. 

There  was  one  who  parting  gave  me 

This  little  braid  of  golden  hair : 
Whose  pale  high  forehead  gleams  before  me, 

Traced  with  many  a  line  of  care. 
Long,  weary  years,  I  scarce  can  number, 

Have  pass'd  away,  since  last  we  met — 
Some  have  gone  down  to  their  last  slumber, 

Whose  cheeks  that  morn,  with  tears  were  wet ! 
Life's  dearest  joys,  with  thee,  departed. 

A  shadow  o'er  my  pathway  came, — 
I  miss'd  the  strong  and  noble  hearted, 

Whose  lips  ne'er  uttered  words  of  blame : 


TO    AN    ONLY    BROTHER.  125 

Reared  "mid  the  solitudes  of  nature. 

Our  lives  were  peaceful  as  our  dreams. 
We  learned  to  worship  the  creator, 

Beside  her  sylvan  founts  and  streams. 
Amid  her  silent  glens  we  wander  d, 

In  curious  contemplative  mood; 
And  questions  of  grave  import  pondered 

While  seeking  berries  in  the  wood. 
The  Orient's  sheen,  the  summer  blossom. 

The  sleep,  that  lay  among  the  hills  ; — 
The  golden  sunset  clouds  whose  bosom 

Heaven's  loveliest  Iris  hues  distills. 

And  the  blithe  song  of  gay  birds  singing. 

Amid  the  orchard  and  the  grove  ; 
In  sweet  harmonious  concert  ringing, 

Attuned  our  hearts,  to  praise  and  love ! 
We  watch'd  the  stars  peep  from  their  places, 

And  questioned  of  their  mystic  source — 
These  early  dreams  have  left  their  traces, 

As  streams  oft  shape  the  rivers  course  : 
So  they  have  shaped  our  future  being, 

Lone  dwellers  we  have  been  apart — 
Feeling  the  glance  of  the  all-seeing, 

Ever  upon  the  inmost  heart! 

Time,  that  ever  will  be  stealing 

The  fairest  blooms  of  earth  away  ; — 

Hath  changed  us  both,  yet  more  in  feeling : 
Since  last  we  met,  in  life's  youncr  Jay  ! 


126  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

Yet  brother,  still  thy  memory  lingers, 

On  my  hearts  tablets  lone  and  bright ! 
Time,  with  its  cold  effacing  fingers, 

Hath  spared  that  page  of  golden  light. 
Thee  I  adjure,  by  many  a  token, 

Of  love,  that  crown'd  our  childhood  years ; 
By  all  the  treasured  words  then  spoken, 

Embalm'd  in  memory's  urn  of  tears. 

Come  to  thy  Home !     Tho'  sad  and  lonely, 

May  seem  the  old  forsaken  nest ! 
Yet  brother,  might  I  clasp  thee,  only 

One  moment  to  my  yearning  breast ; 
And  with  thee,  shed  the  tear  of  sorrow. 

Upon  the  household  graves,  that  lie, 
Half  hidden,  by  the  spreading  Yarrow ; 

And  funeral  flowers,  that  fade  and  die. 
Then  would  I  fold  my  robe  about  me, 

And  with  meek  sufferance,  lay  my  head ; 
Where  the  tall  grass,  and  spreading  Yarrow, 

Will  blossom  o'er  my  lowly  bed  ! 
EAKLVILLB,  December,  1850. 


THE  tall  trees  are  waving  in  the  cold  blast, 

A  farewell  to  the  Autumn,  her  glories  are  past  f 

'Twas  but  yesterday  that  the  grass  was  green. 

Where  the  silvery  drops  of  the  rain  were  seen. 

But  the  hoar  frost  came,  in  the  starry  night, 

And  the  grass  grew  sere,  'neath  its  with'ring  blight. 

The  dead  leaves  are  flying  abroad  in  the  gale, 
The  cold  winds  are  sighing  their  funeral  wail, 
Twas  but  lately  I  marked  their  crimson  glow, 
As  they  gently  waved  on  the  maple  bough ; 
But  they  wither'd  away,  'neath  the  autumn's  frown. 
Till  the  trees  were  shorn  of  their  leafy  crown. 

The  flowers  of  the  garden  are  scentless  and  dead, 
Along  their  gay  margin  grow  rank  weeds  instead. 
Warmed  by  the  sun  and  wet  by  the  rain, 
They  battened  and  grew,  an  unseemly  train, 
Mildew'd  and  spotted,  and  sere  and  brown, 
Meet  for  a  beldame's  wither'd  crown. 

Where  the  pale  pied  pink  blossoms  in  loveliness  grew 
Their  pearl  tinted  bosoms  begemm'd  with  bright 

dew, 

They  have  perished  all  neath  the  Autumn's  strife. 
Lake  those  dreams  that  visit  our  morn  of  life  ! 


128  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

Like  the  hopes  that  we  cherish  which  drew  their 

birth 
From  the  false  and  fleeting  things  of  earth  ! 

Where  the  tall  primrose  flourished,  beneath  the  low 

eaves, 
And  the  moss  roses  nourished  their  wealth  of  bright 

leaves, 

A  pattering  rain  fell,  three  nights  and  a  day  ; 
And  their  leaves  lie   embedded  beneath  the  moist 

clay. 

There  was  one  far  more  lovely  than  roses  in  bloom, 
Who  lies  lower  than  they,  in  her  early  tomb ! 

The  moonbeams  are  sleeping,  o'er  hillside  and  plain. 
And  the  bright  stars  are  keeping  their  watch  in  her 

train, 

The  wood-fire  beams  bright  in  the  open  grate, 
And  Tabitha  prim,  with  looks  elate  ; 
Sits  watching  the  leaves,  as  I  duly  turn, 
And  her  monitone  blends  with  the  hissing  urn. 

I  will  muse  on  the  summer,  that  is  to  be, 

As  I  list  the  low  murmur  of  winds  o'er  the  lea  ; 

My  heart  is  athirst  for  the  sounding  rills, 

And  the  soft  balmy  air  that  the  zephyr  distills ; 

I  pant  for  the  music  that  is  divine, 

Whose  sweet  notes  swell  with  a  murmuring  chime. 


THE  ARTIST'S  LAST  WORK.  129 

In  that  world  of~splendor  whose  soft  light  gleams, 
Pure,  solemn  and  tender,  amid  our  dreams  ; 
Fain  would  I  quench  my  soul's  inward  thirst, 
In  the  limpid  wave,  where  its  fountains  burst ! 
No  withering  blight  can  befall  the  flowers. 
That  bloom  in  those  green  perennial  bowers. 


IT  was  a  clear,  calm,  moonlight,  summer  night, 

O'er  canopied  with  stars,  whose  glittering  light. 

From  heaven's  serenest  depths,  shown  calmly  down 

Upon  a  world  in  tranquil  slumber  drown'd ; 

As  if  no  anguish,  misery,  or  despair, 

E'er  gnaw'd  upon  its  vitals !     The  very  air, 

Seem'd  hushed  and  still.     The  lamps  had  all  burn'd 

dim, 

Save  one  that  shone,  with  a  large  spectral  rim. 
From  a  lone  Artist's  studio  !     The  solemn  chime. 
Of  church  bell,  toll'd  unto  the  ear  of  time, 
One  pealing  stroke — and  the  pale  Artist  rose, 
And  with  frail  fingers,  silently  unclosed 
The  lattice,  and  look'd  forth  upon  the  night ! 
The  innumerous  stars,  with  their  soft  tranquil  light. 
Glanced  down  into  his  soul.     The  holy  calm. 
Of  that  still  hour,  diffused  a  genial  balm 
Over  his  languid  frame  !     Unutterable  thought. 
Kindled  within  his  breast !     His  ear  had  caught, 


130  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

The  melody  of  worlds,  whose  glories  seem'd, 
Transfused  at  times,  into  his  waking  dreams, 
Linking  his  soul  with  heaven  !     One  little  spot, 
Chained  him  to  earth.     A  low  and  white  wall'd  cot. 
Of  rural  loveliness,  before  him  rose, 
Embowered  'mid  trees  ;  the  sweet  lip'd  Tube  rose. 
And  pink  Accacia,  and  those  fragrant  flowers, 
Whose  odorous  breath,  exhales  in  summer  hours, 
Bloom' d  round  the  porch.    Within  that  calm  retreat. 
Enlock'd  in  childhood's  slumber,  calm  and  sweet, 
Lay  two  twin  babes — a  sister  and  a  brother — 
Fair  type  were  they,  of  their  sweet  angel  mother. 
Who  dwelt  above  !     Pale,  worn  and  weak, 
The  death  rose  deepen'd  on  her  lovely  cheek. 
And  ere  a  twelve  month  from  her  infant's  birth. 

She  closed  her  eyes  in  weariness  of  earth  ! 
******** 

Oh,  it  is  sad  when  some  surpassing  spirit, 
Hath  like  a  meteor  vanished  from  our  way  I 
When  all  in  life  we  cling  to,  and  inherit, 
Seems  cold  and  valueless  !     The  kindling  ray 
Of  sweet  intelligence  which  'round  him  shone, 
Was  quench'd  and  gone !     Its  magic  light  had  flown, 
He  linger'd  sorrowing  many  a  weary  day, 
Around  the  foot  prints  of  her  memory  : 
Wasted  with  grief— but  for  the  sake  of  those, 
Twin  buds  of  being,  whose  soft  light  unclosed. 
Beneath  his  watchful  eye,  he  bent  in  toil — 
While  in  the  socket  waned  the  midnight  oil ; 


THE  ARTIST'S  LAST  WORK.  131 

The  sweet  pale  phantom  shrined  within  his  heart. 
Limned  on  the  canvas  with  surpassing  art, 
Whose  sweet  transcendant  loveliness  was  caught. 
From  those  intense  and  subtle  jems  of  thought. 
Evolved  in  moments,  when  the  spirit's  wings. 
Soaring  above  Earth's  vain  imaginings, 
Returns,  relumed  with  glories  that  impart. 
New  life  and  strength  to  the  o'er  burdened  heart. 

It  was  a  lovely  Tableau  !     'Mid  the  skies. 

On  a  white  cloud  of  soft  effulgent  dyes, 

Reclined  his  spirit  bride,  aloft  ascending ; 

Her  snowy  wings,  with  trembling  lustre  blending. 

Threw  a  long  line  of  soften'd  radience  down, 

Blent  with  the  effluence  of  her  golden  crown ! 

The  illumined  forehead  and  the  starry  eye, 

Whose  porphyry  lustre,  rivaled  even  the  sky, 

And  her  white  raiment,  seemed  irradiated, 

Writh  a  soft  beamy  light ;  eliminated 

From  other  worlds,  beyond  earth's  changeful  sphere. 

Reflected  from  the  glorious  atmosphere 

That  gilds  the  brow  of  Heaven ! 

Days,  months  elapsed,  throughout  the  earth  and  sky. 
Changes  had  passed  unnoted  by  his  eye, 
While  o'er  the  canvas,  'neath  the  lamps  pale  light. 
He  traced  'those  dreams,  that  throng'd  his  mental 

sight— 
Dreams  too  etherial  and  refined  to  be 


132  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

UnJblded  save  in  the  deep  solemnity, 
<  >i7  the  mute  voiceless  night !     Within  his  breast, 
I'nutterable  peace,  that  crowns  the  blest, 
WelFd  like  a  fountain,  whose  perennial  springs, 
In  cooling  spray  wreaths,  'round  the  margin  fling 
A  soft  refreshing  dew.     'Twas  at  the  close 
( )f  that  sweet  month  which  ushers  in  the  rose, 
Whose  odorous  scents  upon  the  Zephyr  straying  ; 
While   summer    fountains   'neath    the   moon-light 

playing, 

Seemed  bathed  in  silvery  light!     It  was  an  hour. 
Engirt  with  silence,  whose  deep  mystic  power, 
Seem'd  to  the  Artist,  as  he  breathless  traced, 
The  last  faint  tints  of  that  Angelic  face, 
Replete  with  holy  joy  !     Well  might  he  deem, 
While  gazing  on  that  sweet  embodied  dream, 
That  the  pure  soul  shone  through  those  starry  eyes, 
Whose  mirror'd  depths  reveal'd  a  rapt  surprise, 
And  the  moist  glow,  upon  the  coral  lip ; 
So  life  like  secm'd,  that  honey  bees  might  sip, 
And  deem  they  drank  its  dew.     ^     #     # 

Was  it  the  fitful  glimmer  of  the  moon, 

Or  the  uncertain  light  within  the  room, 

Which  caused  the  picttire,  both  to  smile,  and  start, 

Which  so  o'erpower'd  with  joy  his  throbbing  heart, 

As  to  suspend  its  motion?     None  could  tell ! 

They  found  him  lying,  where  he  fainting  fell, 

As  if  in  sleep — but  life  returned  no  more — 


NEW-YEAR    GREETING.  133 

And  yet  so  bright  a  look  his  forehead  wore, 
Whence  the  pure  soul  of  grace  and  genius  shed 
Its  parting  Uyht ; — one  scarce  could  deem  it  fled  ! 

NOTE. — The  Author  has  conceived  the  foreground  of  this 
picture,  to  represent  a  beautiful  little  Ornee  Cottage,  covered 
with  honeysuckle  and  woodbine  in  flower,  with  a  smoothly 
shaven  grass  plat  in  front,  garnished  with  flower  beds,  where 
t\vo  little  twin  children  are  at  play  amid  the  flowers.  Far  above 
in  the  blue  sky  on  rosy  Cloud  reclining,  the  Angel  moih°r  looks 
smilingly  down  on  the  scene  of  her  late  earthly  happiness,  while 
the  golden  portals  of  her  heavenly  home,  gleam  in  the  dim  blue 
ether.  On  either  hand  may  be  seen  peering  amid  the  clouds* 
the  bright  angelic  faces  of  her  celestial  guides  who  are  also 
gazing  down  upon  the  earth  scene  below  them  with  mingled 
looks  of  love  and  compassion  in  their  eyes. 


Written  for  the  Telegraph. 

leto^i-  Sheeting   ii)  1846, 

I  WISH  you  a  happy  New- Year  friends, 

Though  your  faces  I  may  not  see. 
With  the  kindly  greeting,  I  bind  to  send, 
The  fervent  love  of  my  spirit  blends, 
Which  ne'er  will  fail  till  life  shall  end, 
Wherever  I  may  be. 

The  lark  sang  high  in  the  cloudless  sky, 

In  the  valley  where  ye  dwell ! 
And  the  river  murmur'd  gently  by, 
Frjnged  with  the  emeralds  brightest  dye, 


134:  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

And  the  violet  odors  wander'd  by, 
As  I  breathed  my  last  farewell ! 

Now,  cold  winter's  reign  has  come  again 

With  chilling  winds  and  snow ; 
And  the  frost  lies  on  the  window  panes, 
The  river  is  bound  in  icy  chains ! 
And  slowly  the  blood  flows  through  my  vains — 

And  my  pulse  beats  faint  and  slow. 

But  my  heart  is  leal  and  true  friends, 

With  kind  thoughts  running  o'er. 
Oft  'tis  wrung  with  a  sense  of  pain, 
'Till  the  warm  tears  fall  like  summer  ratn% 
When  I  think  we  ne'er  may  meet  again, 

As  we  met  in  the  days  of  yore. 

1  wish  you  a  happy  new  year  friends, 

Exempt  from  care  and  sorrow, 
When  ye  meet  around  your  cheerful  hearth, 
Its  vacant  places  will  check  your  mirth : 
There  are  some  who  will  never  return  on  earth, 

And  some  on  a  distant  morrow  ! 

Would  I  might  weave  one  strain  friends, 

From  my  broken  lute  one  tone. 
That  would  mind  ye,  of  those  by-gone  days, 
When  among  your  groves  I  sang  my  lays, 
Nor  dream'd  of  the  poet's  wreath  of  bays, 

'Kound  my  youthful  temples  thrown., 


NEW-YEAR   GREETING.  135 

Then  ye  would  think  of  me  friends, 

When  the  sun's  last  fading  ray, 
Doth  crimson  the  halls  of  the  glowing  west. — 
That  is  t&e  hour  that  I  love  the  best. 
Then  I  long  to  soar  to  my  heavenly  rest, 

From  this  weary  world  away. 

Ye  have  been  kind  and  true  friends  ; 

Ye  have  loved  me  long  and  well ; 
But  I've  dreamed  oft  in  the  darksome  night. 
Of  a  lan$  where  falls  no  withering  blight. 
The  loved  are  there  in  their  robes  of  light — 

How  sweet  their  Anthems  swell. 

Chide  not  that  I  long  to  go,  friends 

The  tones  that  greet  mine  ear, 
A  spring  time  in  my  heart  hath  made — - 
Tis  the  loving  tones  of  one  wljo  played 
With  me  beneath  the  willow  shade,  * 

In  the  days  to  memory  dear. 

When  ye  shall  hear,  sweet  voices  hymning 

From  the  distant  spirit  shore  ; 
Strange  yearnings  then,  will  fill  your  breast ; 
Your  Souls  will  pant  for  the  perfect  rest — 
Amid  the  mansions  of  the  blest — 

Where  sorrow  comes  no  more  ! 

*  The  above  lines  contains  an  allusion  to  the  loss  of  a  b€» 
ioved  Sister,  which  caused  the  writer  to  seek  in  change  of 
scene,  an  amelioration  from  that  intense  grief  which  prayed 
uppn  her  health  and  spirits. 


Jo  Pile  ajlols  6. 


COME  sit  by  me,  thou  timid  child, 
"While  the  winds  are  piping-  wild  — 
Lift  to  mine  thine  eyes  of  blue, 
Glistening  like  the  spher'd  dew, 
Which  thy  gentle  soul  beams  through, 
Like  sun-light  thro'  a  cloud. 

Like  the  wind-harp  near  tke  sea,. 
Breathing  its  low  melody, 
Or  like  the  young  and  tender  vine, 
Thy  hearts  tendrils  doth  entwine, 
Around  this  lonely  heart  of  mine  ; 
Filling  it  with  joy. 

I  marvel  ©ft,  sweet  eMd!,  that  thou, 
The  Angels  should  have-  spaaed  till  now,- 
Ever  in  thy  pensive  gaze, 
When  thy  thoughts  seem'd  in  a  maze, 
I've  seen  the  gleam  of  starry  rays, 
Beam  from  thine  eyes  and  brow  ! 

I  knew  the  Angels  were  anear, 
Circling  in  their  own  atmosphere, 
Thy  brow  in  sleep.     Thy  white  lids  lay, 
In  a  soft  holy  calm  alway 


TO    LITTLE    VIOLA    C.  137 

While  o'er  thy  lips  bright  smiles  did  play, 
Like  rose  leaves  steep'd  in  dew. 

Thy  mingled  smiles  of  love  and  glee, 
Whene'er  I  watch'd  thee  silently, 
Thy  little  footstep  on  the  stair, 
The  gleam  of  thy  soft  yellow  hair, 
Floating  around  thy  forehead  fair, 
Still  haunt  my  memory  ! 

Thy  rosy  cheeks  swift  changing  hue, 
The  heaven  of  thy  soft  eyes  of  blue, 
In  whose  calm  depth  there  lies  asleep, 
The  germ  of  thought  intense  and  deep, 
Which  will  thy  spirit  chords  o'er  sweep, 
And  time  thy  lips  to  song. 

Well  I  know  when  I  shall  be, 
Sleeping  soft  and  peacefully  ; 
Lifting  thine  anointed  head, 
Thou  wilt  be  singing  in  my  stead, 
Lays  of  the  living  and  the  dead, 
Yet  more  harmoniously. 

For  the  coming  time  will  bring 
Brighter  themes  whereof  to  sin"-. 

0  D 

God-like  teachers  will  arise, 
Majestical,  and  calm,  and  wise ; 
Whose  noble  deeds  of  vast  emprise, 
Will  be  the  theme  of  song ! 


138  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

He  who  with  a  soft  caress, 

Little  children  stooped  to  bless, 

Aid  thee,  little  dove-ey'd  maiden, 

With  thy  happy  fancies  laden, 

To  keep  undimm'd  the  light  of  Aiden 

On  thy  sunny  brow. 


"  And  it  came  to  pass,  while  they  communed  together,  and 
reasoned,  Christ  himself  drew  near  and  went  with  them.  But 
their  eyes  were  holden  that  they  should  not  know  him,  and  ho 
aaid  unto  them,  What  manner  of  communications  are  these, 
that  ye  have  one  to  another  as  ye  walk  and^  are  &ad." — 
LUKE  24. 

SOL'S  parting  rays  on  Olivet's  brow  lay  sleeping, 

At  sunset  hour  where  Jesus  oft  times  strayed, 
*£o  muse  apart,  the  lonely  night  watch  keeping 

In  silent  prayer,  beneath  the  Olive's  shade. 
The  golden  light  of  the  calm  Orient  heaven, 

Shone  as  in  mockery  of  the  mute  despair, 
Of  his  lone  scattered  band,  whose  hopes  were  riven 

On  whom  the  sunlight  fell  with  sickly  glare ! 

At  early  dawn,  they  to  his  grave  repairing, 
Saw  that  the  tomb  had  yielded  up  its  dead ! 

Altho'  forewarned,  grief  stricken  and  despairing, 
They  linger'd  near  the  Saviour's  rock-hewn  bed ; 


COMMT;:NTNG  WITH  CHEIST.  139 

The  bands  of  death  his  soul  could  not  imprison. 
Two  of  the  band,  to  Emmaus  journeying  lone. 

Mused  in  their  hearts  if  he  indeed  were  risen  : 
Discoursing  whiles,  in  sad  and  anxious  tone, 

Jesus  drew  nigh,  while  thus  at  eve  they  wander, 

They  knew  him  not — their  eye  of  faith  was  dim ! 
Why  are  ye  sad  ?     What  themes  are  these  ye 
ponder 1 

The  Sayiour  ask'd,  as  they  communed  with  him. 
Something  diyine  in  those  clear  tones  awaken, 

Strange  yearning  thoughts,  within  each  throbbing 

breast. 
They  feel,  they  know  not  why,  their  spirits  shaken, 

In  the  calm  presence  of  their  wayside  guest ! 

Deep  toned  and  clear,  like  heayenly  music  stealing, 

O'er  the  hushed  air,  His  words  fell  on  the  ear  ; 
While  from  their  sacred  Oracles  revealing. 

Truths  that  dispelled,  each  wildering  doubt  an^ 

fear, — 
Proying,  that  Jesus  was  the  true  Messiah. 

Who  hung  upon  the  cross,  on  Calvary's  hill. 
That  thus  'twas  needful  for  their  Lord  to  expire, 

God's  sovereign  plan  of  mercy  to,  fulfill ! 

They  reach  the  Village  Inn — the  wayside  stranger 

Paused,  as  reluctant,  to  deny  their  'quest — 
They  knew  not  then,  it  was  indeed  the  Saviour, 
they  entreated,  to  become  their  guest ! 


14:0  AMAKANTH   BLOOMS. 

How  thrill'd  their  hearts  with  awe,  and  reverent 

feeling, 
As  with  bowed  forehead,  bathed  with  heavenly 

light, 

lie  bless'd,  and  brake  the  bread,  himself  revealing; 
Then  straitway  vanished  from  their  longing  sight ! 

Tho'  worn  with  care,  with  grief  and  fasting  wasted ; 

Yearning  to  view  once  more,  that  blessed  face  ; 
Back  to  the  city  with  fleet  steps  they  hasted  : 

His  parting  footsteps  left  behind  no  trace  f 
At  midnight  hour,  they  reach  a  humble  dwelling ; 

They  to  the  twelve,  the  joyful  news  unfold — 
While  hope  and  joy  within  each  breast  is  welling  ; 

Lo  !  in  their  midst,  the  Saviour  they  behold  I 

Soft  as  the  dew  upon  the  folded  blossom, 

His  "  Peace  be  with  you,"  fell  upon  the  ear ! 
In  after  time,  how  thrill'd  each  faithful  bosom, 

As  they  re-called,  those  blessed  words  of  cheer. 
How  like  a  Bethel  scem'd  that  lowly  chamber, 

Whence  they  went  forth,  nerved  for  the  coming 

strife, 
To  serve  their  risen  Lord,  'mid  toil  and  danger, 

To  win  the  fadeless  crown  of  endless  life  ! 


e  fo 

THE  chilling  breath  of  winter. 

With  its  skies  of  leaden  grey, 
And  the  snow  wreaths  on  the  mountains. 

At  length  are  passed  away. 
And  all  things  feel  the  genial  glow, 

Of  Spring's  bright  cheering  ray. 

Our  own  bright  glancing  river, 
Hath  resumed  the  olden  sway : 

Its  blue  waves  gleam  and  quiver. 
'Twixt  the  Elms  and  Poplars  grey. 

While  the  Robin  and  the  Oriole, 
Are  singing  on  the  spray. 

Bright  raindrops  are  descending. 

With  their  light  and  dimpled  feet : 
Tripping  o'er  the  tender  grasses, 

Waking  violet  odors  sweet — 
Stooping  to  kiss  the  silver  dew, 

They  mingle  as  they  meet. 

The  forest  buds  are  swelling. 

Where  their  gentle  tread  hath  been : 
O'er  the  pine  and  hemlock  branches, 

A  brighter  fringe  is  seen, 
Beneath  their  thickly  shaded  boughs, 

Springs  the  moss,  and  lichens  green. 


142  AMARANTH  BLOOMS. 

I  hear  a  gentle  murmur, 

Scarce  heard  by  mortal  ear, 
A  pean  of  thanksgiving, 

Rising  distinctly  clear, 
To  him  who  wakes  all  slumbering  things, 

From  the  bands  of  winter  drear ! 

With  this  under  tone  of  music, 
From  forest,  dell,  and  plain^ 

Are  songs  of  gladness  ringing, 
'Mid  the  sunshine  and  the  rain : 

And  cheerily  this  heart  of  mine, 
Responds  unto  the  strain  ! 

Along  the  winding  river, 

Where  Spring  blossoms  thickly  meet, 
In  search  of  tender  cowslips, 

Sounds  the  tread  of  youthful  feet, 
Whose  glad  tones  gaily  echo  back 

Those  wood  notes  wild  and  sweet, 

I  remember  in  my  childhood, 

How  oft  with  tireless  feet, 
I  have  wandered  through  the  wild  wood. 

Spring's  early  flowers  to  greet, 
There's  few  who  love  not  to  recall 

Youth's  pastimes  wild  and  sweet. 
EARLVILLE,  1851. 


In  WelDoH   of  Wn.  I  if.  I. 


WRITTEN      BY      REQUEST. 

YE  distant  stars  that  shine  in  softened  glory, 

Far  down  upon  the  still  and  solemn  night  ! 
Ye  waken  dreams  and  aspirations  holy, 

While  gazing  on  your  soft  and  trembling  light. 
While  ye  in  silent  watch  seem  mutely  bending, 

Millions  of  seraphs  poised  on  glittering  wing, 
Tune  their  glad  lyres,  with  choral  hymnings  blending 

Anthems  of  praise,  to  heaven's  eternal  King  ! 

Amid  their  shining  ranks,  the  late  departed, 

Entranced  with  wonder  veils  her  raptured  sight  ! 
We  mourn  the  clear  light  which  from  earth   has 
parted, 

Whose  radiance  gilds  your  starry  halls  to-night  ! 
Hers  was  a  mind,  whose  lofty  aspirations, 

Tower'  d  far  above  minds  of  a  common  mold. 
No  fancy  dreams,  imbued  its  high  creations, 

But  nobler  thoughts  and  deeds  its  strength  unfold. 

True  to  one  lofty  thought,  one  firm  endeavor, 
Inspired  by  hope?,  that  girt  her  soul  with  power. 

She  drank  deep  draughts  of  the  sweet  springs  which 
Reveal  God's  wisdom,  in  each  shrub  or  flower  ; 

Though  pleasure  robed  in  Vildering  forms  of  beauty. 
Spread  her  gay  lure,  to  tempt  her  feet  astray  ; 


AMARANTH    BLOOMS. 

Still  walk'd  she  humbly  in  her  path  of  duty. 
Though  many  a  charmer,  charmed  along  the  w 

Far  from  the  sunny  land,  of  birds  and  flowers, 

She  came  among  us  a  loved  happy  bride, 
And  made  her  home  in  this  green  vale  of  ours, 

Where  the  Chenango  rolls  its  silvery  tide. 
Death  noiseless  came  in  an  unguarded  hour, 

And  touched  her  brow,  that  turned  to  icy  clay  ! 
Ere  we  had  missed  her  from  her  earthly  bower, 

Her  Soul  had  flown  on  Angel  wing  away  ! 

Not  unprepared :     Some  spirit  note  or  warning, 

Breathed  in  her  ear,  presage  of  early  doom ; 
Her  Soul  long  clad  in  its  serene  adorning, 

Feared  not  the  darkness,  that  enshrouds  the  tomb. 
Her  cottage  home,  so  sweetly  deck'd  and  shaded. 

Each  rare  device  her  busy  pencil  traced  ; 
All  that  her  own  fair  hand,  had  wrought  or  braided. 

Still  hath  its  own  familiar  nook  and  place. 

But  her  we  loved,  in  snowy  robe  enshrouded, 
Serenely  slumbers,  in  the  silent  tomb  ! 

Alas,  for  him,  whose  life  star  is  o'er  clouded, 

With  -darkling  mist,  and  more  than  winter  gloom. 

Thou'lt  list  in  vain,  in  the  soft  blush  of  morning ; 
Her  low  breathed  whisper' d  words,  of  fervent 
prayer  1 

No  more  at  eve,  the  Father's  grace  imploring, 
Will  she  commend  thce,  to  his  watchful  care ! 


IN   MEMOEY    OF   MRS.    J.    H.    L. 

O'er  her  fair  Angel  brow,  a  light  is  gleaming. 

A  fadeless  light*     Heaven's  Amaranthine  wreath. 
Her  large  dark  eye,  is  filled  with  holy  dreaming  ; 

No  tear  of  sorrow,  lurks  its  veil  beneath  ! 
A  smile  is  on  her  lip — its  last  faint  quiver, 

Changed  -to  a  bright,  a  happy  peaceful  smile  ! 
While  songs  of  joy,  beyond  death's  frowning  river. 

Was  borne  unto  her  dying  ear  the  while. 

Alas,  no  more,  in  soft  and  gentle  numbers, 

Will  her  loved  tones  float  on  the  evening  ah* — 
Soothing  her  sweet  babe,  to  its  nightly  slumbers. 

Filling  thine  inmost  heart  with  peace  and  prayer. 
Where  many  a  silvery  fount,  spray  wreathes  are 
flinging, 

"Mid  the  green  pastures  of  the  better  land  ; 
I  hear  her  golden  lyre,  in  concert  ringing, 

With  the  blest  harpers  of  the  heavenly  band  ! 

Ah,  now  methinks  I  see  her  dark  eye  beaming. 

Through  yon  white  cloud-rift  gazing  gently  down. 
A  heavenly  lustre  falls  around  me,  gleaming 

With  the  effulgence  of  her  starry  crown ! 
The  dream  is  o'er.     The  cold  grey  light  of  morr.lng. 

Recalls  my  Soul,  to  earth  and  earthly  care. 
Fain  would  I  cloathe  me  in  her  meek  adorning, 

And  mount  to  Heaven,  her  blissful  rest  to  share, 

OCTOBER.   1850, 


I.  See-S  JLigM-J'tn 


The  following  is  related  of  a  young  girl,  whose  journey  of 
life  was  near  the  end. 

THE  balmy  odors  of  a  morn  in  Spring, 
Stole  through  the  lattice  of  a  curtained  room. 
Where  sat  the  Angel  death,  with  folded  wing 
Beside  a  dying  child  !     The  sweet  perfume, 
Circling  in  playful  eddies  thro'  the  gloom  ; 
Fan'd  her  pale,  and  her  soft  wavy  hair, 
Clustering  in  golden  curls  around  her  forehead  fair, 

She  was  a  bright  and  glorious  child  from  birth, 
Her  large  dark  eyes  (filled  with  a  dreamy  light, 
Whene'er  she  laughed  or  smil'd  in  winsome  mirth,) 
With  kindling  radiance  beamed  intensely  bright, 
Like  stars,  that  gild  the  jeweled  brow  of  night. 
The  clear  soft  light  her  ample  forehead  wore, 
Marked  her  a  visitant  of  some  brighter  shore  ! 

Her  parents  watched  her  with  unceasing  care,  — 
To  them  she  seemM  a  being  glorified  ! 
Standing  alone  upon  heaven's  top-most  stair  ; 
Whence   Heavenly  Angels  with  light  footsteps 

glide, 
Along  that  narrow  line,  which  doth  divide, 


I   SEE    A   LIGHT.  147 

The  spirit-land  from  ours.      Whence  their  sweet 

Dove, 
Plumed  her  bright  silver}*  wing  for  the  blest  clime 

above. 

They  were  not  doomed  to  see  her  slowly  fade : 
Death's  lovely  Angel,  found  her  gathering  flowers 
While  in  the  pauses  of  her  work,  she  made 
Sweet  music  echo  thro'  the  woodland  bowers, 
Glittering    with    pearls,   which   April   wept   in 

showers. 

The  Angel  touched  her  brow  and  whisper'd  mild. 
Wear  thou  the  seal  of  Heaven's  signet  ring,  fair 

child. 

That  night,  the  fever  burned  within  her  veins. 
Baffling  in  its  swift  course,  all  human  skill. 
A  sweet  delirium  charmed  away  her  pains ; 
Softly  she  murmur'd  of  her  flowers,  until 
The  Angel's  clasp  upon  her  breast  grew  chill ! 
Then  like  a  child  o'er-wearied  with  its  play, 
She  closed  her  faded  eyes,  and  slowly  sank  away  ! 

Nearer,  and  nearer,  roll'd  the  billowy  sea, 
Of  Jordan's  waves,  which  she  so  soon  must  tread. 
Now  her  dark  glazing  eye,  continuously, 
Watch' d  the  beloved  forms  around  her  bed ; 
The  Saviour  laid  his  arm  beneath  her  head ! 
And  then  she  softly  murmur'd,  "  They  are  come — 
Mother.  I  see — a  light — I'm  almost  home." 


Gfyolce. 

"  And  Satan  stood  up  against  Israel,  and  provoked  David  to 
number  Israel.  And  God  was  displeased  with  this  thing  ; 
therefore  He  smote  Israel." — 1st  CHRONICLES  21 :  1,  7. 

THE  orb  of  day, 

Kobed  in  phantasmal  hues  of  crimson  vapor, 
Had  sank  to  rest, — -while  slowly  from  the  east 
Twilight  descended  with  her  viewless  feet ; 
And  spread  her  veil,  woven  of  purple  haze 
Over  Jerusalem.     It  was  the  hour, 
When  Israel's  King,held  commune  with  deep  thought ? 
Or  tuned  his  seraph  lyre,  whose  hallow'd  strains, 
Still  sound  on  Zion's  hill.     Those  hallow'd  themes, 
Which  fan'd  the  fires  of  poesy  in  his  breast, 
And  formed  the  burden  of  his  songs  by  night, 
No  longer  cheer'd  his  soul.     The  tempter's  wile, 
Had  lured  the  Royal  victim  to  the  toils, 
And  interfused  in  his  aspiring  breast, 
That  fatal  element  of  strife,  which  wrought 
Discord  in  Heaven  !*     In  vain  he  strove  to  lift, 
His  soul  above  the  sphere  of  earthliness, 
Which  hid  him  from  his  Maker  !     Ev'n  natures  self. 
The  many  voiced,  the  tuneful,  the  serene, 
Responsive  ever  to  his  sweet  regards, 

*  An  allusion  to  2d  Peter  2  :  4. 


G  DAVIDS  CHOICE. 

Now  wreathed  in  splendor,  or  embayed  in  gloom. 
Seemed  to  his  conscious  breast,  engirt  with  frowns. 
The  silent  stars,  from  out  the  jewel'd  sky. 
Whose  nightly  advent  wakened  hymns  of  praise, 
Glanced  down  upon  him,  with  their  calm  bright  eyes, 
In  sad  reproachful  gaze.     While  the  zephyr, 
Lifted  the  damp  locks  of  his  golden  hair, 
Drenched  with  the  evening  dew.     A  summer  odor, 
Of  Violet,  or  Rose,  that  wandered  by, 
Awoke  the  slumbering  pulse  of  memory. 
Within  his  breast.     While  visions  of  the  past, 
Roll'd  back  upon  his  soul !     Once  more  he  roamed 
'Mid  the  Judean  hills ;  and  led  the  flocks 
To  pasture,  by  the  side  of  a  clear  stream, 
Whose  many  voic'd  waves  sang  in  his  ear, 
While  on  its  banks  he  tuned  his  Shepherd  reed 
To  notes  of  melody,  whose  tones  ga**e  back 
In  shreds  of  rhyme,  and  flowing  pastorals, 
The  peaceful  tenor  of  his  boy  hood's  dream. 
Then  manhood's  hours,  with  sterner  imagery, 
Fed  the  stream  of  thought.  The  tumult  and  the  strife 
Of  waring  hosts,— ^-the  perilous  escapes. 
From  Saul  iiis  enemy— Aye.  and  deeds  of  crime ! 
But  hist  i  a  step  is  heard  within  the  chamber, 
And  David's  brow,  paled  with  a  sudden  fear, 
As  he  beheld  the  seer  of  Israel. 
Then  like  an  Oak,  bowed  by  the  tempests  scourge, 
He  leaned  his  head  upon  his  trembling  hands, 
Waiting  to  hear  his  doom.     ^        %        %        ^ 


150  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

And  David  said, 

"  Let  me  not  fall  into  the  hand  of  man  f 
I  yield  myself  to  the  Allmerciful — • 
I,  and  my  people.     And  though  he  slay  me, 
Still  will  I  trust  in  him  I     Perchance  in  mercy 
He  will  absolve  my  doom." 

That  night  the  pestilence, 
Went  forth  amid  the  darkness,  and  the  cry 
Of  desolation  stirr'd  the  slumberous  air. 
Men  rose  at  midnight,  and  with  lighted  torches, 
Gazed  wildly  on  each  other  mute  with  fear ! 
Nearer,  and  nearer  came  the  fearful  cry 
Of  mortal  anguish,  blent  with  shrieks  of  terror ; 
Death  was  at  war  with  Hie ! 

******** 

Twas  now  high  noon, 

King  David,  with  the  elders  girt  in  sackcloth, 
Went  forth  and  stood  upon  the  plain  where  Oman 
Had  gathered  in  the  harvest.     His  stately  Sons 
Bore  in  their  arms  the  sheaves  of  gold'en  grain, 
And  laid  them  on  the  threshing  floor.     When  lo! 
A  fearful  cry  rose  from  the  husbandmen, 
Who  fell  to  earth,  hidden  beneath  the  sheaves  ? 
******** 

The  Angel  of  the  pestilence, 

Stood  near  the  threshing  floor,  with  his  drawn  sword 
Raised  o'er  Jerusalem !     And  David  cried  aloud, 
"  Tis  only  I  am  guilty,  oh,  my  God  ! 
Let  thy  just  wrath  and  indignation  fall 


SPIRITrAL   COMMUXINGS.  151 

On  me  alone  !     Smite  thou  the  Shepherd, 
But  spare  the  guiltless  flock."     God  heard  his  cry. 
The  flaming  sword  returned  unto  his  sheath, 
And  while  all  Israel  robed  in  weeds  of  mourning, 
Bewailed  with  tears  the  seventy  thousand  slain, 
David  arose  and  built  to  God  an  Altar 
Upon  the  threshing  floor,  and  fire  came  down 
From  Heaven  upon  the  Altar,  and  consumed 
The  sacrifice.  \ 

t  The  Biblical  Student,  is  doubtless  aware  that  the  Temple 
of  Jerusalem  covered  the  precise  spot  once  occupied  by  the 
threshing  floor  of  Oman  the  Jebusite ;  where  the  Israelites 
sacrificed  upon  the  Altar,  until  the  building  of  the  Temple, 
having  removed  the  Tabernacle  from  the  high  place  at  Gibeon. 


"  Some  say  that  gleams  of  a  remoter  world, 
Visit  the  Soul  in  sleep.     That  death  is  slumber, 
And  that  its  shapes,  the  busy  thoughts  outnumber, 
Of  those  who  wake  and  live." 

I  KNOW  not  why  I  often  dream  of  thee, 

While  now  wre  meet  no  more,  except  in  dreams. 

Is  it  that  thou  far  o'er  the  eternal  sea, 

And  o'er  the  sounding  depths  of  heavenly  streams 

Doth  visit  me  in  sleep,  with  starry  gleams 

Of  thy  divine  abode  ?     Yon  star,  whose  breast 

Intensely  luminous,  with  kindling  beams. 


152  AMAKANTH   BLOOMS. 

Gleaming  'mid  starry  islands  of  the  blest, 
Perchance  may  be  thy  home  of  calm  and  peaceful 
rest ! 

We  two  were  parted  in  life's  morning  hours, 
While  yet  their  dew  upon  our  young  hearts  lay  ; 

Thou  wert  call'd  home  to  the  Elysian  bowers, 
While  I  have  wander'd  on  life's  weary  way, 

Striving  with  books  and  flowers  to  charm  away 
Mine  early  grief.     Dost  thou  remember  still, 

When  seated  on  a  ruin  old  and  grey, 

We  watched  the  sunlight  fading  from  the  hill, 
While  vague  foreshadowing  fears,  our  youthful 
breasts  did  thrill ! 

Startled  by  our  own  thoughts,  we  looked  around, 
A  strange   bird  hover'd  near  us,  whose  bright 

wings, 

Circl'd  one  moment  o'er  the  dusty  ground, 
Then  soaring  upward,  in  expansive  rings, 
Scorning  the  bondage  of  earth's  meaner  things, 
He  passed  beyond  the  view.      And  thus  did'st 

thou, 

Burst  the  dull  chains,  which  life  forever  flings 
Round  the  aspiring  spirit.     Thou  could'st  not  bow 
Save  unto  Heaven  alone,  thy  bright  and  glorious 
brow! 

Know'st  thou,  how  I  was  tempted  in  my  lot, 
How  one  like  thee,  with  eyes  of  Heaven's  own 
blue,. 


SPIRITUAL  COMMUXIXGS.  153 

Bewailed  in  accents  ne'er  to  be  forgot 

Our  common  doom.  Our  years  were  sad  and  few, 
Yet  we  were  old  in  thought.  The  morning  dew 

Glitter'd  on  that  lone  shore,  where  last  we  parted. 
My  friend  went  forth,  life's  conflict  to  renew ; 

While  I,  alas,  grief- worn  and  weary  hearted, 

Wept  on  that  lonely  shore  till  day's  last  beam 
departed. 

Peace  came  at  length  to  my  o'er  burden'd  breast 

And  though  'tis  strange,  I  can  no  longer  weep ! 
While  in  the  pauses  of  my  deep  unrest. 

I  envied  e'en  the  dead  their  dreamless  sleep  : 
Yet  now  I  feel  a  solemn  calmness  creep 

O'er  my  being.     I  know  'tis  not  despair, 
Whose  tranquil  shadow  lies  so  still  and  deep, 

On  my  crushed  heart.  Hope  fans  the  slumberous 
air, 

Of  my  souls  "  dead  sea  calm"  with  wings  divinely 
fair! 

Is  it  sweet  love,  that  calm  and  peaceful  rest, 
That  visits  oft  the  dying  ]     They  who  feel, 

Life's  stormy  waves,  no  more  oppress  the  breast ; 
Have  neared  the  post  of  Heaven !     Can'st  not 
reveal, 

What  time  Ithuriel's  kiss  mine  eyes  will  seal, 
In  that  sweet  sleep  which  "  medicines  all  pain !" 

Whose  gentle  dews  the  wounded  spirit  heal — 


154:  AMAKANTH   BLOOMS. 

From  which  we  wake,  to  find  life's  weary  chain, 
Which  bound  the  franchised  spirit,  rent  like  flax 
in  twain. 

Chill  disappointment  lurks  for  those  who  seek 
All  human  sympathies  in  one  alone  : 

And  this  has  been  my  fate.     Yet  wherefore  speak 
Of  that  dark  starless  night.     When  my  heart's 
moan, 

Breath'd  unavailing  sighs.     I  moved  alone, 
Over  the  waves  of  my  life's  billowy  sea  ; 

While  o'er  my  brow,  a  mystic  veil  was  thrown ; 
Beneath  its  folds,  a  radiant  light  I  see, 
Shining  from  out  the  cloud,  that  hides  thy  home 

from  me ! 
JANUARY,  1851. 


THOU  gay  and  gaudy  flow'ret, 
Robed  in  orange,  blue  and  red, 
Lifting  unto  the  Sun's  broad  gaze 
Thy  bright  and  peerless  head. 
How  often  from  my  window, 
Cloathed  in  regal  pomp  i've  seen 
Thee,  share  the  homage  of  the  crow'd, 
With  a  proud  and  stately  mien. 


THE   TULIP.  155 

Foremost  among  thy  Sisters, 

Within  the  bright  parterre, 

Thy  flaunting  robe  attracts  the  gaze 

Of  passing  traveler. 

They  call  thee,  Queen  of  Tulips ; 

In  very  truth  thou  art ! 

But  I  love  thee  not — no  fragrant  scent, 

Thy  brilliant  hues  impart. 

Thou  art  like  a  purse-proud  maiden, 
Who  vaunteth  of  her  gold  ! 
With  rings  and  jewels  laden, 
Whose  heart  is  stern  and  cold ! 
No  gentle  deed  of  mercy, 
Of  kindness,  or  of  love ! 
Around  her  memory  lingers, 
Or  pleads  for  her  above ! 

Thou  votary  of  pleasure, 
Swayed  by  fashion's  fickle  tide ; 
From  the  scentless  Tulip  gather, 
A  lesson  for  thy  pride ! 
How  soon  its  beauties  perish  ; 
And  no  fragrance  leaves  behind ! 
Ah,  who  its  form  would  cherish, 
When  faded,  scentless  blind  ! 

A  sweet  and  holy  lesson, 

I've  learned  bright  flower  from  thee ! 

To  bear  without  repining, 

What  e'er  my  lot  may  be. 


156  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

When  discontent  ariseth, 
And  weary  thoughts  oppress, 
I'll  think  of  thee,  poor  Tulip, 
Of  thy  gay  and  brilliant  dress. 

It  is  thy  only  portion, 
And  many  such  there  be ! 
Who  heedless  sport  upon  the  tide 
Of  a  smiling  summer  sea  ; 
But  when  the  storm  ariseth, 
And  threat'ning  winds  assail, 
They  have  no  power  to  stem  the  tide, 
And  perish  in  the  gale ! 
BINGIIAMPTON,  June,  1847. 


On  the  death  of  Doct.  J.  $.,  aged  84  years,  late 
of  Sherburne,  N.    Y. 

THOU  art  gone  to  the  grave,  in  the  fullness  of  years, 
With  thy  head  meekly  bowed  'neath  the  blossoms  of 

time ; 

Thus  the  well  ripen'd  sheaf,  in  the  harvest  appears, 
Richly  laden  with  ears,  of  the  mid-summer's  prime ! 
As  the  husbandman  gathers  the  ripe  golden  grain, 
That  once  gracefully  waved  o'er  the  hill-side  and 

plain, 


ELEGIAC   STANZAS.  157 

Thus  thou  in  Godrs  harvest  was  borne  from  the  field ; 
Thy  calm  placid  brow,  wore  the  impress  and  seal, 
Of  one  who  the  path  of  the  righteous  had  trod, 
And  held  sweet  communion  in  walking  with  God. 

Four-score  long  years  thou  did'st  journey  below, 
"Till  thine  eye  waxed  dim,  and  thy  pulse  faint  and 

low — 

Still  with  tremulous  step,  and  aspect  serene, 
In  the  temple  of  God,  thou  wast  want  to  be  seen ; 
And  like  a  firm  pillar  which  long  had  upborne, 
Its  weight  mid'st  the  wreck  of  time's  pitiless  storm. 
Thou  did'st  yield  by  degrees  to  the  spoiler's  rude 

sway ; 
And  we  saw  with  deep  grief  thou  wast  passing 

away  ! 
Yet  we  mourn'd  less  for  thee,  with  thy  haven  in 

sight, 
Than  ourselves  left   enshrouded  in   sorrow's  dark 

night. 

And  well  have  we  loved  thee,  our  father  and  guide ; 
How  oft  in  the  past,  as  we  knelt  by  thy  side, 
Hath  our  souls  thrill'd  with  awe,  at  thy  low  fervent 

words, 

Till  the  innermost  depths  of  our  spirits  were  stir'd. 
And  we  felt  that  the  presence  of  Jesus  was  there, 
In  our  hearts  and  our  mid'st  in  answer  to  prayer. 
Thy  wise  prudent  counsels  so  faithfully  given, 
Were   stor'd   in  our  hearts   like  a  message  from 

Heaven. 


158  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

Yet  we  knew  not  till  dust  was  laid  o'er  the  loved 

head, 
How  we  prized  and  rever'd  the  sanctified  dead. 

How  peaceful  and  calm  was  thy  life's  closing  ray, 
Though  the  soul  struggl'd  long,  with  the  cumbering 

clay  : 

We  saw  by  thy  glance,  that  the  darkness  and  gloom, 
That  sometimes  o'er  shadows  the  night  of  the  tomb, 
Obscured  not  thy  view.     A  halo  instead, 
Illumed  the  dark  halls  of  the  shadowless  dead. 
And  beyond,  oh,  how  bright  was  eternity's  blaze  f 
As  thine  eye  pierced  the  mists  of  death's  gathering 

haze, 

And  the  soul  of  the  patriarch,  cheer'd  by  its  ray, 
From  our  fond  yearning  sight  pass'd  serenely  away. 


HER  home  lay  in  a  flowery  dell, 
Fair  as  the  plains  of  Asphodel, 
Where  a  winding  river  sweet  music  made, 
And  the  summer  winds,  in  their  joyance  play'd, 
Soft  as  the  eye  of  the  bright  Gazelle, 
Her  dark  eye  shone  with  a  dreamy  spell, 
While  musing  apart  by  the  fountains  brim  ; 
Or  wandering  lone  thro'  the  wood  paths  dim. 


ZAYDA.  159 

She  moved  with  a  stately  and  queenlike  grace, 

As  if  her  thoughts  with  her  feet  kept  pace. 

Like  the  waves  soft  undulatory  motion, 

When  the  winds  are  asleep  on  the  breast  of  Ocean, 

Her  hair  in  hyacinthine  flow, 

In  the  sunlight  shone  with  a  purple  glow. 

Restless  and  free,  and  imconfined, 

As  the  sicay ing  flowers  'math  the  summer  wind  I 

She  was  the  lilly  of  that  sweet  vale ! 
A  Naiad-like  lilly.  whose  cheek  grew  pale. 
With  inward  strivings  with  thoughts  that  lie, 
'Neath  the  silken  fringe  of  her  drooping  eye. 
While  many  admir'd  her  minds  rich  dower ; 
'Twas  said  that  a  strange  repellant  power, 
Of  which  we  read  in  the  myths  of  old ; 
Bound  the  lady's  heart  in  many  a  fold ! 

And  shone  in  her  large  dark  starry  eyes, 
Like  the  kindling  beams  of  the  polar  skies ; 
With  a  cold  and  phosphoresant  glow, 
Like  moon  beams  shining  on  drifts  of  snow. 
Some  said  the  lady  was  proud  and  cold  ! 
Her  heart  was  formed  in  a  gentle  mold, 
Which  ne'er  had  found  an  answering  tone, 
To  blend  in  music  with  her  own. 

Therefore  'mid  crowds  she  moves  apart. 
Weaving  sweet  dreams  in  her  silent  heart ! 


160  AMAKANTH   BLOOMS. 

When  the  light  touch  of  a  magic  key, 
Shall  unlock  its  sweet  toned  symphony. 
Then  will  its  fears  and  its  sad  unrest, 
Be  safely  lodged  in  a  kindred  breast, 
And  the  place  within  that  heart  denied, 
To  holier  memories  be  allied. 


¥«rteir  of  fte  M*  S' 


AH,  noble  D'Enghein,  how  sad  was  thy  fate  ! 

Yet  who  would  exchange  with  the  base  born  ingrate, 

Who   plan'd   thy  foul  murder,  intrigued   for   thy 

crown, 

And  peril'd  his  soul  for  a  warrior's  renown  ! 
The  sky  was  o'er  cast  with  a  dull  leaden  haze, 
The  pale  moon  withdrew  her  soft  shining  rays, 
While  each  little  star  that  illumines  the  night, 
Grew  pale  with  deep  sorrow,  or  blank  with  affright  ; 
Frown'  d  darkly  and  drear,  o'er  the  grey  looming 

towers, 
Of  thy  Castle  Vincecnes,  while   the   rain   fell   in 

showers, 
The    moldering    banners  were   loosed  from   their 

staves, 

And  mingled  their  din  with  the  roar  of  the  waves  : 
The  low  whisper'd  murmurs,  that  rose  from  the  hall. 
Woke  the  slumbering  echoes  along  the  dim  wall  ; 


MURDER    OF   D1ENGHEI3T.  161 

The  dull  ringing  sound  of  the  grave  digger's  spade, 
To  the  heart  of  the  victim  strange  terror  convey 'd ! 
While  enlocked  in  repose  he  peacefully  lay, 
In  slumber  he  dreamed  of  the  loved  far  away  ; 
Where  the  fair  rose  of  Ettenheim  veils  her  sweet 

bloom, 
In  her  dim  cloister'd  chamber  she  mourns  his  sad 

doom ! 
Oh,  sweet  were  the  hours  when   they   wandered 

together, 
O'er  the  green  dewy  lawn,  and  the  soft  blooming 

heather ; 

When  the  heart  of  the  Exile  forgot  half  its  woe, 
In  those  joys  which  from  love  and  sympathy  flow. 
They  dreamed  of  an  Isle  o'er  the  far  distant  main, 
Where  the  reckless  Usurper  might  seek  them  in 

vain  ; 

Where  faction's  fierce  frowns  might  no  longer  alarm ; 
Where  the  ire  of  a  despot   could  work  them  no 

harm : 

Or  a  home  'mid  the  lone  Euganean  hills ; 
Where  naught  but  the  echo  of  deep  sounding  rills, 
Stirs  the  slumberous  silence  that  broods  on  the  air  ; 
Where  peace  reigns  supreme  'mid  the  solitudes  there. 
Too  long  these  sweet  dreams  doth  the  Exile  enthrall, 
The  treacherous  spy  lurks  in  Ettenheim's  hall. 
Again  he  must  fly  to  some  distant  retreat ; — 


162  AMAWxS  Til   BLOOMS. 

His  brave  noble  charger  with  limbs  lithe  and  fleet ; 
(Whose  small  silken  ears — eyes,  large,  gleaming  and 

bright, 
Mark  the  true  Arab  blood,)  stands  caparison' d  for 

flight. 

Like  a  Tyrolese  hunter,  equip'd  for  the  chase, 
In  the  long  chamois  gaiters,  his  limbs  are  encased  : 
'Neath  the  shaggy  capote  gleams  the  bright  scarlet 

vest, 

The  broad  Spanish  girdle  encinctured  his  breast, 
But  his  high  noble  lineage  no  art  could  disguise  ; 
It  shone  in  the  light  of  his  large  brilliant  eyes, 
And  o'er  his  broad  forehead,  where  thoughts  sat 

enthron'd, 

In  his  pure  Gaelic  accent,  and  clear  gentle  tone ; — 
The  first  kindling  beams  of  the  morning  appear, 
Still  he  lingers  to  whisper  some   sweet  words  of 

cheer, 

To  dispel  the  vague  fears  which  his  Princess  alarms  ; 
While  weeping  she  clung  to  his  sheltering  arms. 
'Mid  the  fierce  din  and  strife  of  a  French  ambuscade, 
The  brave  noble  Conde,  was  a  prisoner  convey'd, 
To  the  heart  of  a  Fortress,  in  manhood's  first  bloom ? 
Consign* d  to  a  dungeon,  destined  for  his  tomb ! 

The  scenes  of  that  night  it  is  sad  to  recall, — 
The  midnight  tribunal  that  met  in  the  hall : 
The  shameful  mock-trial — prejudged  and  predooin'd 
The  victim  is  led  from  that  chamber  of  gloom, 


163 

But  the  brave  manly  heart  is  a  stranger  to  tear, 
Since  that  heart  from  all  guilt  and  from  falsehood  is 

clear ; — 
Thro'  the  long  winding  corridors,  damp  with  the 

mold, 
They  emerge  where  the  sky  beams  down  chilly  and 

cold: 

Like  a  victim  of  slaughter,  he  turn* d  back  his  head, 
But  his  guides  dare  not  falter,  still  onward  they  led, 
To  the  moat  of  the  Castle,  where  placed  in  the  rear, 
Stood  a  platoon*of  soldiers,  with  carbine  and  spear ; 
And  the  rude  yawning  grave  with  the  spade  lying  by. 
One  glance  of  the  victim,  one  faintly  drawn  sigh, 
And  quickly  he  summon'd  the  pride  of  his  race, 
And  with  true  martial  courage  he  step'd  to  his  place : 
A  ring  from  his  finger,  a  lock  of  his  hair, 
He  inclosed  for  the  princess,  and  seal'd  it  with  care : 
Who  among  you  my  comrades,  he  mournfully  spake, 
This  pledge  of  affection  will  bear  for  my  sake  ? 
The  promise  was  given  with  hands  joined  in  prayer, 
He  commended  his  soul  to  his  Maker's  just  care  ! 

A  deep  groan  of  anguish  escaped  from  each  breast, 
As  the  death  bullet  sped  through  the  brave  martial 

chest ! 

His  brave  faithful  dog  fell  convulsed  at  the  sight, 
O'er  the  grave  of  his  master,  he  moan'd  through  the 

night ! 
One  morning  at  dawn,  like  the  bearer  of  fate, 


AMARANTH    BLOOMS. 

Weak  and  wan  stood  poor  Victor,  at  Ettenheim's 

gate. 

At  the  feet  of  his  mistress  he  laid  himself  down, 
One  glance  of  deep  anguish,  one  sad  moaning  sound, 
Reveals  the  sad  tidings — one  last  mute  caress, 
And  the  death  torpor  chills  the  poor  victim's  distress. 
A  blood  stain'd  kerchief  round  his  collar  was  bound, 
In  its  folds  were  the  relics  of  love  safely  found  ; — 
A  note  for  the  Princess,  reveal'd  his  sad  fate, 
Whose  bearer  lay  dead,  at  Ettenheim's  gate ! 


Jo  !J>$.  Bnn  §• 

WHILE      MAKING      THE      TOUR      OF      EUROPE. 

LADY,  the  soft  south  wind  is  gently  blowing, 

Cold  winter's  reign  has  passed  from  earth  and  sky  ! 
Thine  own  blue  streams,  once  more  are  freely  flowing. 

The  westering  clouds  are  tinged  with  softer  dye ! 
Will  not  the  spring  that  wakes  to  life  the  flowers, 

And  cloathes  with  swelling  buds  the  beechen  tree, 
That  fills  with  singing  birds  the  woodland  bowers, 

Recall  thee  homeward,  from  beyond  the  sea  ? 
Thou  hast  left  records  of  sweet  thoughts  inwoven, 

With   music   strains,  whose   sweet   bells  softly 

chime  ! 
Transfused  with  tender  light,  and  interwoven, 

With  starry  gems  wrought  in  the  hearts  deep 
mine. 


MRS.    ANX   S.    STEPHENS.  165 

Rare  gifts  are  thine — which  from  thy  genial  nature. 

Receive  sweet  nutriment,  like  flowers  that  bloom 
Beneath  the  watchful  eye  of  the  Creator, 

Whose  balmy  odor  cheered  my  lonely  room  ; — 
Where  in  dim  twilight  passed  the  summer  hours. 

Of  many  a  year  with  slow  and  leaden  feet. 
Until  I  seem'd  to  feel,  the  budding  flowers 

Grow  o'er  my  breast,  wafting  their  odors  sweet, 
On  soft  May  breezes,  that  with  gentle  murmur, 

Came  lightly  tapping  at  my  window  pane ; 
Weaving  bright  garlands  for  the  joyous  summer. 

Dancing  with  lightsome  tread,  across  the  plain. 

There  sat  by  my  bedside,  a  gentle  maiden, 

Who  with  soft  accents,  read  from  out  a  book — 
Whose  winsome  strains  re-called  my  soul  from  Aiden , 

And  my  whole  frame,  with  kindling  rapture  shook . 
Once  more  I  heard  the  limpid  fountain  gushing, 

Beneath  the  hill,  where  oft  in  days  long  flown. 
The  sighing  nightbreeze,  thro'  the  pine  trees  rushing. 

Breathed  in  my  ear  its  low  and  plaintive  moan, 
And  the  loud  murmur  of  the  streamlet  dashing 

Adown  the  rocks,  while  bounding  on  its  way — 
Blent  with  the  drowsy  hum  of  insects  flashing, 

Their  tiny  wings  amid  its  rainbow  spray. 

Thine  was  the  strain,  dear  lady  that  enthrall'd  me 
With  its  sweet  picture  of  life's  sunny  hours ! 

And  thine  the  radiant  vision,  that  re-called  me 
TO  this  dull  earth,  from  the  Elysian  bowers  ! 


166  AMAKANTH   BLOOMS. 

But  ah,  those  haunting  thoughts  that  ever  mingle 

Their  flitting  shadows  in  the  gifted  breast — 
Where  many  voiced  waves  doth  intermingle, 

In  a  low  melody,  whose  deep  unrest, 
Oft^fills  thy  dreamy  eye  with  pensive  sadness, 

Like  theirs  whose  sight  has  pierced  the  inner  veil ; 
A  low  deep  undertone  of  grief  and  madness. 

Wrung  from  crushed   hearts,  haunts  thee  with 
spirit  wail ! 

Still  the  gay  world  feeds  on  thy  vernal  fancies, 

Like  honey  bees,  that  sip  the  flowering  thyme ! 
So  thou  but  weave  those  bright  and  gay  romances, 

Cull'd  from  the  storied  page  of  many  a  clime  ; — 
They  reck  not  of  the  wealth  thus  freely  given ! 

Scattered   like  wayside  flowers  throughout  the 

land : 

Thy  sweet  thoughts,  "  breathing  less  of  earth  than 
heaven," 

Leave  on  the  heart,  their  influence  pure  and  bland ! 
While  now  amid  Illyria's  classic  bowers, 

O'er  many  a  marble  fount,  and  ruined  shrine, 
Thou  lingerest,  or  amid  the  Alhambras  Towers, 

Or  wandering  'neath  the  palms  of  Palestine. 

'Twixt  whose  broad  leaves  the  stars  gleam  down  in 
splendor, 

Like  jewels  set  upon  the  brow  of  night ! 
Where  the  soft  Pleiades,  and  Hyades  tender, 

With  Orion,  and  Procydon,  blend  their  light. 


ROBIN    GREY.  167 

Or   on   the  Ocean's   breast,    where   bright   waves 
leaping, 

Rejoice  in  might,  the  boundless,  and  the  free ! 
Heaven  have  thee  lady,  in  its  holy  keeping, 

And  guard  thee  safe,  on  land,  or  on  the  sea. 
Soon  thy  green  woods,  filled  with  triumphant  singing. 

Shall  beckon  thee,  across  the  rolling  main  : 
While  thy  glad  heart,  with  hope  and  joy  is  springing 

To  greet  thy  friends,  and  native  land  again. 
EARLVILLE.  May,  1851. 


OR    THE    STONE    MASON    AND    HIS    ANGEL. 

1  REMEMBER  the  cot  by  the  wirnpling  burn, 

It  has  long  since  passed  away  : 
Where  the  sweet  brier  grew  and  the  feathery  fern. 

'Round  the  home  of  poor  Robin  Grey. 
With  mickle  labor,  he  strove  to  keep, 

Grim  want  from  his  humble  door. 
He  dreamed  a  dream  one  night  in  his  sleep, 

Which  left  him  never  more ! 

He  dreamed  that  the  Angel  Gabriel  came, 

And  stood  by  his  Cottage  door ! 
And  the  golden  light  from  his  raiment  fell. 

And  shone  on  the  §anded  floor  ! 


168  AMARANTH  BLOOMS. 

His  silvery  plumage  was  fleck'd  with  gold, 

And  dazzling  as  light  could  be  f 
But  the  radiant  face  he  could  scarce  behold 

For  its  glorious  majesty  ! 

Meantime  as  he  gazed,  his  thoughts  grew  calm, 

As  he  felt  that  soft  radiant  glow 
Of  crystal  light  interfuse  its  balm, 

And  through  all  his  pulses  flow, 
Like  a  wing'd  and  permeating  thought, 

From  the  region  of  light  and  love. 
It  was  plain  that  his  dormant  soul  had  caught 

A  glimpse  of  the  life  above  ! 

Lest  the  vision  shouM  fade  from  his  yearning  breast. 

He  toiled  when  his  task  was  done, 
To  carve  the  form  of  his  Angel  guest, 

In  the  unhewn  marble  stone. 
His  hopes  are  plumed  like  the  Angels  wings, 

Annaled  on  his  heart  and  brain  ;- 
As  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  unsealed  springs 

That  water — the  Heavenly  plain. 

Life's  winged  moments  sped  on  apace, 

His  beard  grew  thin  and  grey  ! 
But  the  spiritual  radiance  lent  his  face, 

Grew  brighter  each  passing  day ! 
This  marked  not  his  bustling  dame, 

Who  called  him  up  at  morn. ; 


GKET.  169 


She  knew  not  the  strength  of  his  vital  flame, 
Was  sinkin    with  toil  o'er  worn. 


But  few  were  the  visits  he  now  could  pay, 

To  his  Angel  by  stealth  at  night. 
But  the  Angel  within  his  breast  each  day, 

Waxed  more  luminous  and  bright  ! 
One  morn  he  was  found  in  his  little  cell, 

Asleep  on  the  cold  hard  floor. 
His  soul  had  ascended,  in  Heaven  to  dwell, 

With  the  Angel  forever  more  ! 

And  the  stone,  which  had  witnessed  life's  parting 
strife, 

Enclasped  in  his  fainting  fall; 
Where  a  human  heart  had  carved  out  its  life, 

Was  broken  to  mend  the  wall  ! 
Though  he  failed  to  accomplish  the  one  Idea, 

Ensta  raped  on  his  heart  and  brain  — 
In  the  clearer  light  of  eternity, 

Who  will  sav  that  he  toiled  in  vain  ? 


Hie  Sfe 

I  REMEMBER  not  my  Father,  I  was  but  a  little  child. 
When  my  pale  browed,  dark  eyed  Mother,  wept 

with  grief  and  sorrow  wild, 

As  they  told  her  he  was  sleeping,  on  a  distant  shore. 
She  clasped  me  to  her  bosOm,  then  fell  fainting  on 

the  floor. 


170  AMAEANTH   BLOOMS. 

Years   passed,  my  gentle  mother,  for   her  tender 

Orphan's  sake, 
Was  wedded  to  another,  while  with  grief  our  hearts 

did  ache : 
For  we  oft  times  found  her  weeping,  o'er  a  little 

Auburn  tress, 
And  the  fragment  of  a  letter  ever  worn  upon  her 

breast ! 

The  look  of  mournful  sadness  never  left  her  pallid 

brow, 
Why  she  hushed  our  childish  gladness,  we  knew  not 

then  as  now ! 
When  we  heard  a  well  known  footstep,  we  were 

silent  'mid  our  play, 

And  like  two  young  and  startled  fawns,  fled  noise 
lessly  away  ! 
Him  we  learned  to  call  our  Father,  was  not  cruel 

or  unkind, 
Since  he  gave  us  food  and  raiment,  but  the  love  for 

which  we  pined, 
Not  even  its  blessed  semblance,  caused  our  breasts 

with  joy  to  swell ; 
And  on  our  young  and  timid  hearts,  a  mournful 

shadow  fell. 

I  remember  not  my  Father,  but  my  Mother  oft 

times  told, 
How  he  was  a  child  of  genius,  with  locks  of  paly 

gold: 


THE    STEP-CHILD.  iTl 

Wrcath'd  in   soft  and  clustering  ringlets,  o'er  his 

forehead  pale  and  high, 
And  darkly  shone  the  liquid  blue  of  his  Heaven 

up-lifted  eye! 
Oft  I  dreamed  of  my  lost  parent,  ever  in  sleep  he 

came, 
When  my  heart  seem'd  well  nigh  broken,  with  a 

sense  of  wrong  and  blame ; 
(Each  unkind  word  then  spoken,  pierced  my  wrung 

heart  to  its  core ;) 
He  laid  his  hand  upon  my  head  and  then  I  wept 

on  more ! 

Long  ago,  my  sweet  pale  Mother,  was  laid  within 

the  grave, 
And  my  brave  and  only  brother,  sailed  across  the 

Ocean  wave. 
I  know  not  if  the  shadow,  which  darkened  our  young 

life, 
Still  hovers  o'er  his  altered  lot,  'mid  life's  turmoil 

and  its  strife ! 
I  never  meet  the  Orphan  but  mine  eye  is  dim'd 

with  tears, 
And  I  think  o'er  all  the  sorrow,  that  darkens  their 

young  years ! 
How  many  a  young  and  gentle  heart,  is  chill'd  with 

fear  and  gloom, 
The  shadow  of  whose  mournful  lot.  sets  only  in  the 

tomb ! 


The  subject  of  the  following  poem,  was  one  of  those  rare 
and  lovely  beings,  whose  existence  is  a  perpetual  hymn  of 
divinest  harmony  ;  blessed  with  every  external  advantage,  and 
in  the  enjoyment  of  almost  every  earthly  blessing,  she  was 
not  unmindful  of  the  giver  of  all  good,  and  her  young  life  was 
consecrated  to  His  service.  She  was  the  first  to  discover  the 
presence  of  the  Angel  Messenger,  and  calmly  exclaimed,  "  I 
am  dying,  but  I  am  not  afraid  !"  These  were  her  last  words, 
and  soon  a  smile  of  ineffable  sweetness  lingered  upon  her  fair 
young  brow.  Her  spirit  had  ascended  to  the  bosom  of  her 
Creator. 

A  BIRD'S  sweet  song  within  my  ear  is  ringing, 

And  cloudless  smiles  Heaven's  glorious  arch  of 

blue, 
The  sunset  skies,  soft  golden  gleams  are  flinging 

O'er  the  green  grass,  begem'd  with  silvery  dew. 
Once  more  the  earth  is  robed  in  hues  of  Aiden, 

Fresh  woodland  scents  are  borne  upon  the  gale ; 
But  to  mine  ear  the  breeze  seems  sorrow  laden, 

And  on  its  bosom  floats  the  voice  of  wail ! 

Alas !  my  youngest,  dearest  one  has  perished, 
The  nurseling  of  my  widow'd  heart,  who  grew 

Like  a  sweet  flower,  so  dearly  loved  and  cherished, 
Whose  snowy  petals  faded  ere  they  blew 

Into  full  bloom !     Within  my  lonely  dwelling, 
An  Angel  form  hath  vanished  from  my  sight ; — 


THE  FATHER'S  LAMENT.  173 

No  more  when  vermeil  buds  with  bloom  are  swelling, 
Will  my  sweet  ADA,  watch  their  tender  light ! 

The  fragrant  scent  of  the  frail  apple  blossoms, 

Borne  on  the  south  winds  soft  and  odorous  breath, 
And  the  pale  violets  with  their  starry  bosoms, 

Sprinkled  along  the  dewy  vale  and  heath, 
Wake  hi  my  heart,  a  faint  and  weary  yearning, 

Since  she  who  loved  their  soft  and  fragrant  bloom, 
No  more  will  hail  the  genial  spring's  returning ! 

Its  fragile  blossoms  wither  on  her  tomb ! 

She  walked  upon  this  earth  a  form  of  brightness ; 

Cheering  the  agel  with  her  gladsome  smile. 
Her  truthful  heart  ne'er  sway'd  from  its  uprightness, 

To  indulge  deceit,  or  falsehood's  treacherous  guile, 
Pure  as  a  clew  drop  in  life's  early  morning, 

She  pass'd  away  in  her  young  virgin  bloom ! 
Her  spirit  cloath'd  in  its  serene  adorning, 

Feared  not  the  darkness  that  enshrouds  the  tomb ! 

Along  the  banks  of  life's  broad  shining  river, 

Walks  a  new  Angel,  robed  in  spotless  white ! 
The  Amaranth's  snowy  blossoms  gleam  and  quiver. 

Amid  its  foaming  spray- wreaths  silvery  light — 
Amid  those  Eden  bowers,  no  earthly  sorrow 

Will  reach  her  more.     By  those  immortal  rills, 
She  waits  to  welcome  on  a  distant  morrow, 

Our  weary  footsteps,  o'er  the  Heavenly  hills. 


Jo 

WRITTEN      IMPROMPTU. 

WHITHER  comest  thou  Minstrel  Maiden, 

With  thy  dulcet  tones  so  sweet, 
Hast  thou  left  thy  home  in  Aiden, 

Our  ungenial  clime  to  greet  1 
Thronging  crowds  around  thee  listen 

Nightly  to  thy  thrilling  strains ; 
While  they  list,  bright  tear  drops  glisten. 

Falling  like  the  silver  rain  ! 

Hail  to  thee,  surpassing  spirit ! 

None  can  rival  thy  sweet  art ; — 
Thou  from  Heaven  dost  inherit 

Inborn  melody  of  heart ! 
Gushing  forth  in  notes  of  gladness 

From  thy  lips  in  music  flow  ; 
Or  in  tones  of  deepest  sadness 

Breathing  forth  the  notes  of  woe  ! 

Priestess  of  the  inner  temple 

Song  hath  touched  thy  lips  with  tire. 

Sure  thy  music  must  resemble, 

Theirs  who  swell  the  Heavenly  choir. 

Like  the  lark,  who  thee  resembles, 
Thy  clear  notes  in  joyance  rise, 


JEXXY    LIXD.  175 

'Till  the  flood  of  music  trembles, 
And  dissolves  along  the  skies. 

Like  a  lone  star  brightly  burning, 

Thou  'mid  crouds  art  still  alone ! 
While  thy  spirit  inly  yearning 

Lists  each  well  remember'd  tone, 
Of  the  distant  and  the  lonely. 

Sitting  by  their  silent  hearth, 
Thinking  nightly  of  thee,  only, 

A  weary  wanderer  o'er  the  earth. 

Soon  our  singing  birds  will  leave  us, 

Sailing  o'er  the  distant  main  ! 
Another  spring,  their  songs  will  greet  us. 

But  thou  wilt  not  return  again ! 
When  thy  voice  so  sweetly  ringing 

Dies  within  thy  silent  breast ! 
Thou  sweet  Jenny,  wilt  be  singing 

'Mid  the  mansions  of  the  blest. 


THE  Sea  Gull  has  flown  to  her  windy  nest, 
And  the  Nightingale  to  her  bower  ; 

The  Halcyon  broods  on  the  Ocean's  breast. 
And  the  Owl  in  her  Ivy  tower. 

The  Stars  shine  down  like  jewels  set 
'Mid  the  dusky  braids  of  even. 


176  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

In  a  soft  and  glittering  coronet, 
That  gilds  the  brow  of  Heaven ! 

Dost  thou  gaze  like  me  on  our  trysting  star, 

That  glows  in  the  deep  blue  west  1 
Its  kindling  beams  light  thy  home,  afar 

O'er  the  Ocean's  billowy  breast. 
Its  soft  and  glittering  light  recalls 

Scenes  long  since  passed  away  ; 
When  music  and  joy  were  within  our  walls, 

And  our  hearts  were  young  and  gay. 

One  eve  in  June,  when  the  fragrant  wind, 

Blew  soft  from  the  breezy  west — 
To  a  drowsy  sweetness  our  thoughts  inclined, 

As  we  sailed  o'er  the  lakes  calm  breast, — 
We  paused  to  rest  on  an  Island  fair, 

In  the  mid'st  of  the  glassy  bay  ; 
Fringed  with  feathery  brake  and  maiden  hair, 

And  the  star  Anemone. 

The  whispering  winds  were  hushed  asleep, 

On  the  shore  of  the  lovely  bay  ; 
O'er  its  tranquil  waves  so  calm  and  deep, 

The  smile  of  Heaven  lay. 
Down  the  sloping  bank,  'mid  the  mossy  sedge, 

Where  the  blue  flag  blossoms  waved — 
The  Water  Lilly  crown'd  its  edge, 

And  the  winds  and  waters  braved  ! 


177 


The  mellow  light  of  the  sunset  sky, 

Gleamed  soft  o'er  the  sylvan  scene, 
And  illumed  the  waves  with  its  golden  dye, 

And  the  ripples  that  played  between  ; 
While  the  music  of  the  breezy  pines. 

Fell  soft  on  our  hearts  that  hour  : 
And  the  rustle  of  the  creeping  vines, 

Around  our  sea-girt  bower  ! 

I  saw  thee  gaze,  o'er  the  mountains  peak, 

That  leaned  against  the  sky, 
And  I  marked  the  flush  that  was  on  thy  cheek, 

And  the  glance  of  thy  fearless  eye ! 
Which  the  Ocean  tempest  had  failed  to  tame, 

'Mid  its  deaf 'ning  strife  and  roar ; 
Thy  name  is  enroll'd  on  the  scroll  of  fame, 

And  we  meet,  ah !  never  more ! 
EABLVILLE,  1852, 


£be,  1851. 


THE  wood  fire  casts  a  ruddy  gleam 
Around  my  lone,  yet  cheerful  room  ; 

The  curtain'd  lamp,  with  softened  beam 
Dispels  the  dim  and  shadowy  gloom, 


ITS 


AMARANTH    BLOOMS. 


I'll  spend  in  silent  watch  the  hours, 

That  to  the  dying  year  belong. 
Ere  morn  shall  gild  her  eastern  bowers, 

Thou,  too,  wilt  join  the  shadowy  throng. 

The  dawning  of  thy  reign  was  bright, 

Fill'd  with  high  hopes  and  deeds  sublime, 
Soon  closed  o'er  all  the  fearful  night, 

Of  anarchy,  despair,  and  crime. 
Great  souls  have  strug'led — toil'd  in  vain — 

Long  cherish'd  hopes  are  quench'd  in  gloom. 
The  dungeon  damp,  and  felons  chain, 

Are  many  a  high  soul'd  patriots  doom. 

No  home  hath  freedom's  Eagle  crest 

O'er  all  Europia,  blood  bought  soil, 
Save  where  she  built  her  mountain  nest, 

Among  the  freeborn  sons  of  toil. 
And  hovering  o'er  thine  onward  path, 

The  dark  wing'd  pestilence  hath  spread, 
Its  withering  blight  and  fearful  scath, 

Numbering  its  millions  with  the  dead. 

Then  marvel  not  old  year,  that  I 

Thus  calmly  watch  thy  funeral  pyre, 

Yet  thou  hast  kindly  dealt  with  me, 
And  granted  many  a  fond  desire. 

No  buds  have  perished  in  the  dust, 

'Round  which  my  fond  affections  cling ; 


179 


\  dwell  with  calm  and  holy  trust, 
Beneath  Jehovah's  sheltering  wing. 

Time  In  its  flight  perchance  hath  traced, 

Some  sad  memorials  of  its  reign, 
'We  grieve  to  view  in  a  dear  face, 

The  deepen'd  lines  of  care  and  pain, — 
Yet  dearer  is  the  chasten'd  light 

Of  loving  eyes  bedim'd  by  tears, 
And  dearer  to  our  yearning  sight, 

The  care  worn  faded  brow  appears. 

The  clock  strikes  twelve.     Thou  dawning  year. 

What  message  dost  thou  bring  to  me? 
I  gaze  with  trembling  awe,  and  fear, 

Upon  the  scroll  that's  writ  for  me. 
"Tis  for  the  loved  ones  that  I  fear, 

Whose  Angel  footsteps  linger  still — 
Perchance  ere  dawns  another  year, 

They'll  beckon  from  the  Heavenly  hill, 

Our  church  yard  is  a  pleasant  spot, 

It  stands  beside  the  village  green. 
The  Myrtle  and  Forget-me-not, 

Its  bladed  grasses  gleam  between. 
There  lie  the  friends  beyond  compare, 

The  kindest,  loveliest,  dearest,  best. 
One  young  bright  head  with  golden  hair. 

Hath  the  cold  dreamless  pillow  press'd. 


AMABANTH    BLOOMS. 

And  one  with  shining  bands  of  brown, 

My  Mother's  was  of  purple  jet, — • 
Her  pale,  high,  noble  forehead  crowned, 

Like  a  dark  lustrous  coronet. 
When  softly  slumbering  by  their  side ; 

Robed  in  a  pure  and  snowy  dress, 
There's  one  will  keep,  with  loving  pride, 

Of  mine,  one  little  golden  tress. 


fo 


THOU  art  but  a  wee  thing  dearest, 

And  yet  I  often  trace, 
Revealings  of  deep  earnest  thought, 

Upon  thine  Infant  face. 

Thou  art  too  frail  a  blossom 
For  this  cold  world  of  ours, 

Where  burning  tears  more  frequent  fall, 
Than  April's  sunny  showers. 

Thou  hast  a  fair  young  Mother, 
As  guileless  e'en  as  thou  ;  — 

The  same  pure,  holy  look  is  hers, 
That  cloathes  thy  Cherub  brow, 

She  often  murmurs  in  her  sleep, 
And  folds  thee  to  her  breast, 


LINES    TO    AX    INFANT.  181 

She  dreams  that  bright  eyed  seraphs. 
Bend  o'er  thy  couch  of  rest ! 

For  she  knows  that  very  dearly, 

Such  as  thou,  the  Angels  love, 
And  she  often  deems  they're  waiting. 

To  bear  thee  home  above. 

So  fragile  and  so  slender, 

Are  the  links  of  thy  life's  chain, 

That  thy  gleeful  play  oft  sendeth, 
The  fever  thro'  thy  veins. 

Then  her  place  is  by  thy  pillow, 
Keeping  watch  till  dawn  of  light : 

And  a  headstone  'neath  the  willow, 
Haunts  her  thoughts  tjie  dreary  night. 

Then  she  hears  light  garments  rustle, 

And  the  clasp  of  Angel  wings, 
And  a  mournful  sweetness  blendeth, 

With  the  lullaby  she  sings ! 

Thus  more  holy  and  more  tender, 

Grows  her  love,  thro'  fears  for  thee : — 

Like  the  sweet  Madonna  Mother, 
With  her  infant  on  her  knee! 


Gift  of 


"  And  fancies  from  afar  are  brought, 

By  magic  lights  and  wandering  wind."  —  L.  E.  L. 

OH,  envy  not  the  gift  of  song, 

The  poets  dower,  oh,  envy  not  — 
Thou  knowest  not  the  ills  that  throng, 

Around  its  votaries  hapless  lot. 
How  many  a  child  of  genius  lives, 

Immured  in  some  lone  attics  gloom  \ 
Toiling  for  fame,  which  scarce  out  lives. 

The  wither'd  laurel  on  his  tomb, 

Why  seek  for  fame  ?  'tis  but  a  gleam 

Of  light  across  our  pathway  shed  : 
We  wake  from  hopes  delusive  dream, 

To  find  but  darkness  in  its  stead. 
'Tis  oft  the  price  of  burning  tears, 

Of  sleepless  nights,  and  anxious  days. 
Full  many  a  rankling  thorn  appears, 

Enwoven  'mid  its  wreath  of  bays  ! 

Oh,  there  are  moods  we  can  not  quell, 
Thoughts  that  we  may  not  cast  aside, 

Upon  our  hearts  we  feel  their  spell, 
Despite  our  reason  and  our  pride  j 


GUT    OF    SOXG.  183 

And  there  are  strange  and  lofty  themes, 
With  deep  and  solemn  mystery  fraught, 

That  mingle  with  the  poets  dreams, 
Awaking  pure  and  holy  thought. 

These  are  the  flowers  and  foliage  rare, 

And  golden  fruit  of  poesy — 
Where  the  weary  heart  finds  rest  from  care. 

In  sweet  and  wilderiug  phantasie  ; 
Our  souls  ere  long  will  find  full  scope, 

Amid  these  marrels  of  the  mind ; 
When  Heaven's  bright  portals  on  us  ope, 

And  our  cumbering  clay  is  left  behind. 


iQJ)  Spirit 


IN*  the  lonely  church  yard  sleeping. 

In  thy  low  and  narrow  bed, 
Thou,  thy  dreamless  rest  art  keeping. 

Where  the  summer  dews  are  steeping. 
The  green  sod  above  thy  head, 

While  thine  Orphan  child  is  weeping, 
O'er  earth's  dearest  treasure  fled 

Hark  !  I  hear  a  whisper  telling, 
Angel  Mother,  thou  art  near  ! 

Swift  life's  purple  rill  is  welling, 

Through  my  heart,  its  pulses  swelling, 


184  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

With  a  sense  of  love  and  fear. 

'Till  I  share  thy  blissful  dwelling, 
Guard  me  Angel  Mother  dear ! 

The  song  of  birds — the  sunlight  stealing 
Through  my  room — a  breath  of  air, 

Ever  bring  a  swift  revealing, 
(With  a  chasten'd  holy  feeling,) 

Of  thy  presence  every  where ; 
All  my  grief  and  sorrow  healing, 

While  I  trust  thy  watchful  care. 


Jfye 

A  poor,  feeble  and  weather-beaten  tar,  clothed  in  the  tattered 
habiliments  of  a  sailor,  paused  at  the  door  of  a  neat  and  elegant 
dwelling,  soliciting  charity.  The  mistress  of  the  mansion,  a 
still  beautiful  woman,  in  the  meridian  of  life,  invited  him  to 
enter,  and  after  administering  to  his  immediate  necessities,, 
wished  to  know  the  cause  of  his  apparent  misery. 

DEAR  Lady,  mine  !  a  tale  of  woe, 

Unmeet  perchance  to  greet  thine  ear  f 
Yet,  since  thou  bid'st,  then  be  it  so : 

Attend  me  Lady,  thou  shalt  hear, 
Brief  sketch  of  my  eventful  fate — 

Which,  thanks  to  Heaven,  will  soon  be  past. 
Though  wronged,  oppressed,  and  desolate  ; 

I've  done  my  duty,  to  the  last. 


VAXDERIXG    MARIXER.  185 

I  was  not  born  to  beg  my  bread, 

No  Lady,  I  too,  once  had  wealth, — 
Though  now  by  public  bounty  fed, 

Or,  driyen  to  seek  my  food  by  stealth. 
These  thin  grey  locks,  were  once  as  dark, 

Dear  Lady,  as  thine  own  of  jet ! 
And  love,  and  hope  were  once  mine  ark, 

'Round  which  affection  lingers  yet. 

Once  I  had  friends !     Yet  one  alone, 

Shared  every  secret  of  my  breast. 
I  loved,  and  found  my  love  returned  : 

My  EMMA  vowed  to  make  me  blest. 
My  friend  was  false.     Yes,  Lady,  he 

Each  base  and  subtle  art  employed  ; 
Well  skiM'd  in  deep  wrought  treachery, 

He  sought  and  soon  my  peace  destroyed ! 

I  would  have  wreaked  my  deadliest  hate, 

On  him  who  had  my  ruin  wrought ; 
I  sought  him  Lady,  'twas  too  late, 

My  Emma  shared  his  guilty  lot ! 
I  fled,  and  mingled  with  the  roar, 

Of  battles  loud,  and  wildest  strife  ; 
Yet  whether  upon  sea  or  shore, 

One  thought  within  my  breast  was  rife  : — 

Whether  upon  the  bloody  strand, 

'Mid  dying  shrieks,  or  camion's  roar ; 


186  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

Or  coasting  near  the  glittering  sands, 
Of  Afric's  wild,  and  burning  shore ; 

Or  clinging  to  the  slippery  shroud, 

When  roared  the  tempest  in  its  wrath; 

What  time  the  voice  of  thunder  loud, 
Was  mingled  in  the  howling  blast ; 

Or  borne  on  Ocean's  tranquil  breast, 

By  the  hushed  billows  gently  tossed, 
One  thought  alone  my  heart  oppressed, 

It  was  the  treasure  I  had  lost ! 
Or  foremost  'mid  the  field  of  strife, 

When  victory's  banner  o'er  me  waved, 
Reckless  and  weary  of  my  life, 

The  friendly  ball,  in  vain  I  craved. 
******* 
The  first  pale  streaks  of  dawning  day, 

Gleam'd  faintly  o'er  that  field  of  slain ! 
I,  with  my  comrades  groped  our  way, 

To  see  if  aught  alive  remained  ! 
When  lo  !  upon  the  oozing  sod, 

I  spied  a  female  bending  o'er 
A  mangled  corse — 'twas  she,  Oh,  God ! 

It  was  the  woman  I  adored. 

Her  long  black  hair  hung  floating  round, 
Her  neck  like  snowy  marble  white. 

Her  arms  around  the  dead  were  wound, 
There  had  she  spent  the  dreary  night ! 


WANDERING   MARINER.  187 

I  gently  loosed  her  feeble  grasp, 

'Round  him  who  once  had  been  my  friend  ; 
And  with  my  senseless  burden  pass'd 

'Mid  heaps  of  dead,  and  dying  men. 

I  bore  her  to  a  place  of  rest — 

And  life,  with  consciousness  returned, — 
Oh  Lady,  when  my  hand  she  pressed, 

How  did  my  heart  with  rapture  burn! 
Then  duty  called  me  far  away, 

To  quell  the  hostile  bands  of  Spain — 
When  next  in  port,  our  vessel  lay, 

I  sought  brief  leave,  but  sought  in  vain  ! 

I  waited  but  the  gloom  of  night, 

Then  plunged  indignant  'mid  the  waves  ! 
They  deem'd  my  course,  the  recreants  flight, 

And  close  pursued  the  band  of  slaves, 
I  reached  her  dwelling — God  forgive 

The  phrenzy  that  the  scene  inspired  ! 
I  prayed  her  for  my  sake  to  live, 

She  swoon'd,  and  in  my  arms  expired  ! 

Then  years  unnumbered  o'er  me  sped, 
Thick  darkness  seized  my  wildered  mind ! 

At  length  the  misty  chaos  fled, 
And  left  me  patient  and  resigned. 

The  Lady  heard  that  mournful  tale, 
While  many  a  tear  suffused  her  face  ; 


188 


AMARANTH    BLOOMS. 


(He  paused,  her  cheek  grew  deadly  pale,) 
Then  wildly  sprang  to  his  embrace, 

Crying,  'tis  he — my  EDWIN  dear  ! 

Thrice  welcome  to  my  peaceful  home. 
From  his  bronzed  cheek,  she  kissed  the  tear, 

And  bade  him  hence  no  longer  roam. 
And  'neath  that  gentle  Sister's  care, 

The  sad  and  grief  worn  look  he  wore, 
Assumed  a  calm  and  cheerful  air, 

And  never  did  he  wander  more. 


grjj  dJDi 

AS   INDICATED   BY  THE    COUNTENANCE  IN  DEATH. 

AH,  'tis  a  sad  and  solemn  sight  to  view, 

Nature's  last  conflict  in  the  hour  of  death. 
To  mark  on  the  pale  brow  the  icy  dew, 

And  watch  the  faint  and  oft  suspended  breath 
Of  one,  fast  sinking  in  the  arms  of  death. 

But  ah,  the  contrast  in  life's  closing  hours, 
'Twixt  those  whose  treasures  are  laid  up  in  Heaven, 

And   those   who   sink   beneath   death's   chilling 

powers, 
Whose  sins  are  unannealed  and  unforgiven. 

Death  hath  no  terrors  for  the  pure  in  heart, 
Who  calmly  yield  to  God  the  breath  he  gave. 


BIGHTEOFS    AOT)    WICKED.  189 

And  while  they  feel  his  cold  and  icy  dart, 

They  trust  in  Him,  whose  arm  is  strong  to  save ; 

Who  won  from  death  the  victory  o'er  the  grave ! 
I've  seen  the  smile  on  many  a  pallid  lace, 

Intensely  luminous  with  holy  joy, 

Whose  mortal  paleness  wore  a  hallowed  grace, 

So  bright,  that  death  itself  might  not  destroy. 

And  I  have  seen  the  dying  eye  illum'd 

With  radiance,  such  as  youth  nor  health  bestows, 
While  the  dull  ear  to  Heavenly  chords  attun'd, 

Listened  the  melody,  that  ceaseless  flows 
From  seraph  lyres  above.     And  there  are  those, 

Who  tremblingly  approach  death's  dark  ravine, 
With  mournful  shuddering,  ere  they  lave  their  feet, 

Who,  while  they  ford  death's  cold  and  icy  stream, 
Burst  forth  in  songs,  and  hallelujah's  sweet. 

And  there  was  seen  upon  each  clay  cold  brow, 

When  friendly  hands  had  closed  the  glazing  eye, 
A  glory,  such  as  earth  can  ne'er  endow 

Her  Kings  and  Princes — whose  effulgent  dye, 
Beamed  from  yon  starry  world  beyond  the  sky ! 

Suspended  on  the  line  betwixt  two  worlds, 
Whence  gales  from  each,  might  blow  upon  the  cheek. 

Were  those,  who  Satan's  banner  had  unfurl'd, 
Resolved,  heroicly,  death's  strife  to  meet. 

And  their  pale  brows  when  the  last  pang  was  o'er, 
Still  bore  the  impress  of  death's  fearful  strife. 


190  AMARANTH    BLOOMS. 

And  some  there  were,  whose  pallid  features  wore, 
A  sickly  weariness  and  scorn  of  life, 

Those  peverish  pangs  with  which  the  earth  is  rife. 
But  Heavenly  minds  leave  wheresoe'er  they  pass'd 

A  parting  radiance,  that  is  not  of  earth. 

Their  earthly  forms  when  they  aside  have  cast, 

Still  bear  the  impress  of  the  soul's  high  birth. 


§li*or)0 


toil!     Di-H   hie  Obei* 


These  were  the  words  of  a  sweet  little  dying  boy,  who 
departed  this  life  a  few  weeks  ago. 

IT  was  a  summer  night, 
The  silvery  dew  lay  on  the  folded  flowers, 
Which  tremulous  swayed  unto  the  passing  breeze, 
Shedding  rare  odors  from  their  fragrant  urns, 
Upon  the  midnight  air.     The  solemn  stillness, 
Fell  heavily  upon  the  hearts  of  those, 
Who  watched  the  fading  of  life's  dying  taper, 
Beside  the  bed  of  death.     With  pensive  gaze, 
The  pale  moon  glanced  beneath  the  silken  folds 
Of  crimson  drapery,  lifted  from  the  couch, 
Where  panting  lay,  engirt  with  mortal  pangs, 
A  child  of  glorious  promise.     The  blue  vein'd  lids. 
Fringed  with  the  silken  lash,  drooped  heavily 
Over  the  beaming  eyes,  whose  heavenly  azure 


OVER   THE   MOUNTAINS.  191 

Enchain'd  his  parents  sight,  and  held  their  thoughts. 

Suspended  'twixt  a  sense  of  hope  and  fear, 

Until  they  marked  a  fearful  change  pass  o'er 

The  little  sufferers  brow — and  then  they  knew 

Their  fair  and  beauteous  boy  would  soon  depart 

Unto  his  home  in  Aiden.     Was  it  the  moon 

Glancing  unseen  amid  his  snowy  pillows, 

Or  that  soft  spiritual  halo,  that  enshrouds 

The  brows  of  dying  saints,  which  illum'd 

His  pale  rapt  forehead,  white  as  driven  snow  ? 

Where  piles  of  silken  curls  of  Amber  hue, 

In  sweet  profusion  cluster' d  o'er  his  brow  ; 

Imparting  to  his  radiant  mien,  the  look 

Of  an  ascending  seraph.     Gently  he  murmur'd 

Amid  the  pauses  of  the  dying  strife, 

In  tones  melifluous  of  his  birds  and  flowers  ; 

While  with   crush'd  hearts   his  parents   bow'd  in 

prayer. 

When  lo,  they  heard  borne  on  the  midnight  air, 
Angelic  harpings :  nearer,  and  more  near, 
Yet  soft  and  low,  like  the  ^Eolian  strains, 
Borne  on  the  breeze. 

Unseen  by  human  eye, 
A  winged  watcher  bending  o'er  his  couch. 
Removed  the  film  that  dim'd  his  mortal  sight, 
And  straight  before  his  spiritual  vision  rose 
The  Eternal  City,  with  its  gates  of  pearl, 
Its  glittering  palaces  and  golden  domes, 
Its  shady  walks,  where  grows  the  tree  of  life, 


192  AMARANTH    BLOOMS. 

Beside  the  living  waters !     Far,  far  away, 
Beyond  the  hills,  beyond  the  deep  blue  sea, 
Beyond  the  towering  mountains,  which  uprear 
Their  crests  against  the  sky !     Amid  the  groves, 
Where  crystal  fountains  chime  upon  the  ear, 
Whose  silvery  spray -wreath's  sparkle  in  the  light, 
Myriads  of  infant  Cherubs  robed  in  white, 
Bearing  within  their  hands  bright  harps  of  gold, 
Beckon'd  the  dying  one,  with  songs  of  joy. 
Lifting  his  little  arms  he  softly  murrnur'd, 
Good  night,  dear  Mother,  I  am  going  home ! 
Then  quick  as  thought,  a  shade  of  sadness  cross' d 
His  beaming  forehead,  and  with  failing  voice, 
Stifled  with  inward  fear,  he  whisper'd,  "  Mother, 
How  can  I  climb  the  mountains  ?"  *     Straight  MB 

guide 

Revealed  his  presence,  with  his  snowy  wings, 
Glittering  like  sunbeams,  plumed  for  distant  flight. 
His  fears  were  gone.     With  a  sweet  smile  he  said, 
"  A  strong  man,  Mother,  stands  beside  iny  bed ; 
Safe  in  his  arms,  he'll  bear  me  o'er  the  mountains," 
And  then  with  joy,  the  little  pilgrim  started 
Upon  his  Heavenward  journey.    His  fleeting  breath 
Exhaled  like  dew  drops,  borne  aloft  by  sunbeams ; 
Ascending  upward  to  the  throne  of  God, 
The  smiling  Cherub  pass'd  beyond  the  view, 
To  dwell  among  the  Angels  ! 

*  About  the   night  on  which  he  died,  he   saw  something 
beautiful,  which   ho   could   not  well   understand.      He   w&a 


Hie  Sunset 

WRITTEN   FOR   THE   BEREAVED. 

OUR  dearest  hopes  have  perished  on  thy  bier, 
Like  flowers  that  wither  in  their  early  bloom  ; 

'Mid  the  bright  festal  seasons  of  the  year, 

When  summer  flowers  exhale  their  rich  perfume. 

Thou  hast  passed  dear  EBBY,  far  beyond  the  tomb. 
To  that  bright  world,  oft  imaged  in  thy  dreams. 

Which  lies  beyond  death's  shadowy  vale  of  gloom. 
Thine  ear  had  caught  the  music  of  its  streams, 
Which  dawn'd  upon  thy  sight,  in  bright  and  starry 
gleams. 

The  whispering  breeze  seem'd  redolent  of  perfume ! 

The  fading  glories  of  the  dying  day, 
Beamed  softly  down  upon  thy  new  made  tomb. 

The  green  earth  smiled  in  all  its  bright  array 
Of  vermeil  bloom.     But  thou  hast  pass'd  away 

In  thy  young  beauty,  like  a  vision  fair, 
Too  beautiful  to  last.     A  soft  light  lay 

O'er  thy  young  sinless  brow,  and  golden  hair, 

Shed  by  the  winged  ones,  who  tread  the  upper  air* 

delighted  with  the  vision,  and  his  parents  assured  him  that  God 
had  given  him  a  glimpse  of  Heaven, — but  they  soon  perceived 
that  he  was  troubled  by  the  appe<  ranee  of  mountains — almost 
in  a  moment  however  after  they  were  discovered,  he  exclaimed 
with  a  radiant  countenance,  "  Mother,  a  strong  man  will  carry 
xae  oyer  the  mouutains."  y 


194  AMAKANTH    BLOOMS. 

A  Robin  sang  upon  the  linden  spray, 

A  song  so  sweet,  methought  that  thou  would'st 

hear! 
It  seemM  the  very  same,  who  day  by  day 

Fed  from  thy  hand,  whose  notes"  so  soft  and  clear 
At  early  dawn,  entranced  thy  listening  ear. 

O'er  the  hush'd  air  floated  those  wood  notes  wild, 
Kindling  the  thought,  thy  spirit  was  anear. 

In  dreams  I  meet  thee  oft,  my  beauteous  child, 

Wreathed   in  soft  effluent   light,  beaming  with 
splendor  mild. 

My  gentle  boy,  never,  oh,  never  more, 

Will  thy  sweet  lips,  salute  my  brow  and  cheek ! 

]  shall  behold  thy  starry  eyes  no  more, 

Beaming  with  tender  light.     Erring  .and  weak 

Though  I  may  be,  I  would  not  vainly  seek 
To  win  thee  back !     Yet  oh,  I  pine  to  hear 

Thy  sweet  voic'd  melody — to  hear  thee  speak 
In  thy  low  gentle  tones,  prat'ling  without  fear, 
Words,  whose  deep  wisdom,  thrill'd  ofttimes  my 
list'ning  ear. 

How  soft  and  light,  I  felt  thy  dimpled  fingers, 
Enclasp'd  in  mine,  when  walking  by  my  side. 

O'er  scenes  of  joy,  how  fondly  memory  lingers  ! 
My  beauteous  boy, — our  dearest  hope  and  pride, 

Art  now  our  teacher,  and  our  spirit  guide ! 

The  chords  of  love  that  round  our  hearts  entwine, 

Bought  can  dissever — death  can  ne'er  divide. 


THE    SUNSET   BURIAL.  195 

Still,  still,  I  feel  thy  soft  hand  clasped  in  mine. 
Leading  me  upward  to  the  fount  of  love  divine, 

I  can  not  now  behold  thy  vacant  chair ; 

The  books  and  toys  oft  used  in  mimic  play. 
Thy  braided  dress  my  darling  used  to  wear, 

Whose  quaint  device,  employed  full  many  a  day 
Thy  Mother's  happy  hours.     Noting  ahvay 

Thy  sweet  intelligence ;  its  kindling  beam 
Shone  in  thy  dark  eyes  soft  and  spiritual  ray. 

Thy  memory  love,  will  shed  a  radiant  gleam. 

Over  the  changful  hues  of  life's  eventful  dream. 


Jo  h)[f  Sfefei*  ii)  ifeqberj, 

"  The  beautiful  evanish  and  return  not." — COLERIDGE. 

AND  thou  art  gone,  but  still  thy  memory  dwells, 
Enshrin'd  within  my  heart's  deep  hidden  cells. 
Lonely  and  bright.     Seasons  may  come  and  go, 
And  years  sweep  onward  with  their  silent  flow  ; 
But  thou  wilt  not  return,  and  I  must  bear 
Henceforth  within  my  heart  the  yearning  thirst. 
To  meet  thee  dearest,  by  the  rills  that  burst 
From  the  pure  fount  of  life's  exhaustless  tide, 
Where  pain  and  death  our  hearts  can  never  more 
divide. 

Thy  race  is  run !     Thy  sun  is  quenched  in  night, 
But  its  last  beams  were  bright,  intensely  bright. 


196  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

Thy  dark  eye  shone  through  death's  dim  gathering 

haze 

In  mournful  splendor,  like  the  expiring  rays 
Of  a  dim  taper,  brightening  to  the  last ! 
Thy  dying  words,  still,  still,  methinks  I  hear, 
Deep  toned  and  soft,  yet  how  distinctly  clear ; 
They  breathed  of  Heavenly  hope,  and  fervent  trustr 
How  can  I  wish  thee  back,  a  dweller  here  with  dust, 

I  know  that  thou  art  blest !     Yet  grief  has  power, 
At  times  to  wring  the  heart,  'till  tears  like  showers 
Fall  thick  and  fast !     And  oh,  to  think  in  vain, 
Are  poured  for  those  we  love,  the  hearts  deep  rain, 
The  searching  glance  sent  upward  to  the  sky, 
The  wild  implorings,  the  heart  bursting  sigh, 
Are  vain,  all  vain  !     No  kind  responsive  tone, 
From  the  departed  my  lone  spirit  cheers  ; 
Oh,  Earth !  thy  heritage  is  nought  but  grief  and 
tears ! 

Yet  we  shall  meet  ere  long,  a  few  more  years. 
And  I  shall  leave  for  aye,  this  vale  of  tears, 
To  dwell  with  thee  above.     Yet  thou  the  while, 
Wilt  still  seem  near  me  and  thy  patient  smile 
So  sweetly  mournful,  through  long  months  of  pain, 
Ah,  who  can  e'er  forget  ?     Sweet  Sister,  no  ! 
Though  the  tall  Daisies  o'er  thy  grave  may  grow, 
Yet  not  forgotten  shall  thy  dust  repose, 
'Till  death's  long  dreamless  sleep,  my  tearful  eyes 
shall  close. 


WRITTEN    BY    THE    REMAINS    OF    A    BELOVED    MOTHER. 

THE  blow  has  come  at  last. 
And  like  a  crushed,  a  withered,  broken  flower 
Swept  down  beneath  its  desolating  power. 
I  bow  me  to  the  dust !     Thro'  weary  years 
My  heart  has  clung  to  thee  through  doubt  and  fears 
Praying  the  cup  might  pass.     'Tis  over  now  ! 
Oh,  let  me  kiss  once  more  thy  pallid  brow, — 
Oh,  God !  'tis  icy  cold !     Awake,  awake  ! 
My  Angel  Mother,  ere  my  heart  do  break. 
With  agony  and  grief!     Thou  dost  not  hear, 
Thou  knowest  not  that  thine  absent  one  is  near. 

Kneeling  beside  thy  bed  ! 
I  had  not  thought  to  live 
And  look  my  last  upon  thy  pale  sweet  face, 
Which  e'en  to  brightness  shone  with  Heavenly  grace, 
I  had  not  thought  to  lay  my  aching  head 
Upon  thy  breast,  when  thou  wert  cold  and  dead  ! 
Nor  clasp  thy  hand,  and  feel  no  kind  return, 
No  cordial  pressure,  while  my  heart  doth  yearn    . 
For  one  sweet  word  and  look.     Oh,  never  more 
Thy  gentle  voice  will  greet  me  at  thy  door. 
From  absence  long,  returned !     My  weary  breast 
Yearns  for  to  share  thy  sweet  and  dreamless  rest. 

So  peaceful  and  so  deep  ! 


198  AMARANTH   BLOOMS. 

Thine  was  a  mournful  lot ! 

Through  many  years  of  pain  and  slow  decay,. 

We  saw  thee  worn  and  wasting,  day  by  day. 

Still  though  disease  had  cast  its  withering  blight 

Around  thy  fragile  form,  thine  eye  was  bright ; 

Serenely  bright  until  life's  final  close 

With  faith  and  Heavenly  hope !     O'er  others  woesr 

Thy  tender  breast  with  pity  oft  did  melt ! 

No  tale  of  sorrow  reached  thine  ear  unfelt ; 

Nor  suffering  unrelieved.     Thy  patient  smile, 

Thy  Heavenly  look,  so  calm,  serene  and  mild, 

Still  lingers  o'er  thy  face. 
This  early  morning  light 
Within  the  room,  and  song  of  merry  birds, 
And  breath  of  flowers,  recall  thy  dying  words. 
"  Fold  back  the  curtain — let  me  see  the  light — 
The  morning  light.     How  beautiful,  how  bright  f 
Unclose  the  casement — let  me  hear  again, 
The  merry  birds  ring  forth  their  joyous  strain. 
How  sweet  their  music  sounds !"     Thine  ear  hath 

heard 

Far  sweeter  music  than  the  song  of  bird, 
Since  thy  last  morn  on  earth.     Thine  eye  hath  seen 
The  land  of  Canaan,  with  its  rilling  streams, 
And  Zion's  golden  walls ! 

Why  wish  to  win  thee  back 
Mine  Angel  Mother  ?  thou  dost  rest  in  peace! 
For  thou  has  gained  at  last,  thy  longed  release  \ 
Celestial  glory  clothes  thy  spotless  brow, 


LINES.  199 

Among  the  Angels,  thou  art  singing  now, 
The  song  of  endless  praise !     A  little  while, 
And  thou  wilt  welcome  thy  poor  sorrowing  child, 
To  thy  divine  abode !     In  humble  trust 
I  now  resign  thy  dear,  thy  precious  dust, 
To  its  last  rest  within  earth's  lowly  bed ! 
Trusting  ere  long  to  lay  my  weary  head, 
Sweet  Mother,  by  thy  side. 

Et  Ju  Entendes  une  voix  yar  me  dit  du  hant  du  leil  Eerune 
Heuraux  sout  les  marts  yur  meurant  daus  le  signeur  desmain- 
taenent  dit  le  Esprit  els  u  reposant  se  leurs  travaux  car  leur» 
ouvrea  lea  survent. — REVELATIONS, 


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